She gave Quinn a smile that was likely intended to be disarming. It just made him cuddle closer to Alex’s strong, cool body. He tried to give her back a neutral expression, but it probably came off as more like a scowl. He wasn’t very good at hiding his emotions.
The woman gave up and went back to no-nonsense. “You’re Quinn Timothy Cooper of Saginaw, Michigan?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re far from home.” He didn’t respond to that observation because he couldn’t imagine what she wanted him to say. It wasn’t as if he’d left home because he’d wanted to. “You just turned eighteen recently.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Alex rubbed his shoulder with a light, soothing touch, reminding Quinn that he was there and that he wasn’t alone anymore to face problems like this.
Her gaze slanted briefly to Alex. “You look younger.”
He shrugged because again, so what? Was her point that Alex must be a child-molester because he was fucking someone who appeared young? And did that mean he must also be a serial killer? If this was any indication of how the interview was to be conducted, he was going to get pissed off pretty fast.
Fortunately, Duncan cut in by bringing him a tall glass of orange juice and a plate of pancakes, sausages and scrambled eggs. “Emil says juice first, then you can have coffee later.” The cop delivered the message with a shrug.
Quinn smiled at the man. “Thanks.” Then he reached for the juice, suddenly thirsty. The frosty glass felt nice and cool against his sore fingertips. He gulped a third of it before placing it on the table.
Duncan remained standing nearby, staring at Quinn for a few seconds before looking at Alex with a narrowed gaze. Or maybe that was his imagination, because a moment later, the man nodded at them and wandered back to the bar.
Alex nudged him. “Go on and eat, sweetheart. I’m sure Agent Chin won’t mind your answering her questions with a full mouth.”
Chin gave the impression that she wanted to argue that point, yet merely nodded. “I’d like to go back to the night when Mr. Crowell allegedly assaulted you.”
Picking up his fork, Quinn speared some eggs. “Sure, what do you want to know?”
The next fifteen minutes or so were boring. That was all, a steady annoying itch of questions and answers. He found he didn’t mind so much because the food was delicious and Alex never stopped touching him, a constant reminder that he had his back in the literal and figurative sense of the word. Aware of the fact that his lover didn’t have any breakfast in front of him, Quinn cut a piece of pancake and held it to Alex’s lips. With a smile that left Quinn’s insides feeling goopier than the syrup on his plate, Alex inclined his head and accepted the offering. For a second, Chin and everyone else faded into the background as they gazed into each other’s eyes.
A loud throat-clearing broke the spell and Quinn returned his attention to the FBI woman, but he continued to offer Alex bits of his food. There was more than he could comfortably eat, and sharing the meal with his lover felt intimate, especially because they were doing it front of others.
Halfway through both the meal and the interview, Duncan returned with an iced mocha latte, courtesy of Emil. Quinn grinned his thanks to the cop, who again lingered a couple of seconds longer than seemed necessary. Poor guy probably felt left out. It couldn’t be easy to start an important case only to have someone else come in and trample all over the ground he’d already covered. By the time Chin finished her questions, Quinn and Alex had devoured the food. He sat back nursing his coffee while Alex continued to pet his shoulder.
The federal agent barely paused after thanking Quinn in a tone that conveyed just how little she thought of his help before turning a glacial stare on Alex.
“Mr. Stelalux, you’re a Romanian?”
“By birth, yes. I had the great honor of becoming a naturalized American citizen a few years ago.”
“Congratulations. You immigrated with Horatiu Stelalux, Valeriu Stelalux and Emil Stelalux, your uncle and cousins?” When Alex gave a curt nod, she continued with a moue of her mouth. “The exact bloodline is a bit murky, record-wise.”
Alex stiffened slightly, almost imperceptibly. “Back in the old country, the family tie is all that matters. The specifics, not so much. Anyone older than you are is uncle or aunt, and those who are your contemporaries are cousins if they’re not siblings. We don’t worry at all about the technicalities of it.”
“I see.” She made some note in her portfolio. “What part of Romania do you come from?”
“The Carpathians, a small village that you’ve never heard of, I’m sure.”
She parted her lips in what might be considered a smile. “Even so, for the record?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Quinn saw Alex also smile, except his made him look like a shark. “It’s already part of the record—my immigration record.”
Chin sat staring at Alex, as if she could force him into saying more through her force of will alone. It didn’t work. It was never going to, not given how commanding and confident Alex was. They sat in awkward silence for a few seconds—awkward for the woman, that was. Quinn had the impression that Alex would have sat there in silence all day if need be.
Finally, with a huff, Chin moved on. “What did you do there? For work, I mean.”
“We were farmers.”
“All of you?”
“Yes, our extended family has been farming and raising livestock in that part of the world for centuries.”
Chin smiled widely enough to show her straight teeth. “Forgive me, but you don’t put one in mind much of a farmer or a shepherd. You’re all so unusually tall, for one thing, that it’s hard to picture you in such a bucolic setting. I guess I’ve always thought of the Romanian people as being shorter.”
This time, Alex didn’t give any indication of annoyance. “You know, I’ve always believed the same about Chinese people. Then I heard of Shandong Province. Have you? The native population puts out a fair number of basketball players, I believe. Those types of misconceptions make racial profiling inherently problematic, don’t you think?”
Chin’s smile dropped to a frown, her frustration and annoyance at being called out at her own game clearly written on her face. What did she expect? This wasn’t some battle of wits. It wasn’t a battle at all, more like a slaughter. Alex was going to sit there, batting her questions away as if they were pesky flies before sending them careening right back into this woman’s face.
And all the while, a vicious killer stalked the city, likely picking out his next victim. The FBI was wasting its time focusing on Alex and his family. But Quinn wasn’t going to worry about any of that. Snuggling back into Alex’s warm embrace, he focused on the delightful and new way his body ached. Reliving the memories of his latest all-nighter was far more interesting than what was playing out in front of him.
This was what it meant to be well-fucked and he intended to bask in the pleasure for as long as he could. Why not? Alex wanted him, at least for now, and the club was a kind of haven. His family couldn’t hurt him here, nor could the crazy killer. Cocooned by Alex’s strength, he allowed himself to imagine that nothing could touch him.
He was utterly safe.
* * * *
Chin and her hulking lap dog snapped sunglasses on the moment they stepped outside into the bright, sunny day. Coupled with their severe, dark suits, it was if they were trying to perpetuate a stereotype.
“Well, that was a waste of time,” the woman huffed.
Trey didn’t even try to hide his smirk. “I did try to warn you, ma’am. These people don’t intimidate easily. If you push them, they push back harder. And while they’re arrogant assholes, they seem far too smart to dump a body in their own backyard. Plus, their alibis for the second murder checked out.”
Chin turned a stony face at him. “Yes, sergeant, I’m well aware of your assessment, but my job doesn’t allow me the luxury of taking local law enforcement’s views as gospel.”
Oh, ouch!
He held back a sneer and retort with effort.
Her subordinate turned his stony face in their direction. “You seemed awfully cozy with them.” Ah, the lap dog speaks. “Making sure the kid was nice and well-fed,” he added, as if his comment hadn’t been self-evident.
Trey let his irritation show with the pup, because Christ, he had boxers older than this kid. “Stelalux and his whole clan there are very protective of what’s theirs. He was like that with Cooper even before they were obviously fucking. Pardon me, ma’am,” he added for form’s sake. “You weren’t going to get anywhere until the boy got some food. That’s all.”
Chin clucked her tongue. “Cooper is a distraction. The real issue is that family. They are obviously not farmers. I suspect they are involved with organized crime in some way, possibly Russian.”
“Ma’am, there is no evidence of that, other than the fact they are the biggest, scariest guys I’ve ever seen in my career.”
She turned her hidden eyes in his direction. “They also own a club, the perfect place to launder money.” She huffed. “But, I suspect all that has nothing to do with the unsub, not given the second victim and the showcasing of the corpse. Organized crime fares best by keeping a low profile. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have to meet with the coroner.”
“Good luck,” Karl chimed in. “I think you’ll find that the poor bastard died from exsanguination.” The feds didn’t even bother to respond. They just turned in lockstep and walked away.
“I don’t think they like us, Trey.”
“Yeah? Well, they know the feeling is fucking mutual,” he swore. “If they’d only keep us in the loop. I mean, I get that they have jurisdiction and I’ll admit that they are better equipped to handle something like this. But I mean, come on. This is our turf, and coming in hot was never going to be the right approach with Stelalux.”
“Yeah, he’s the original cool customer, and he all but peed circles around the kid.”
“He protects what’s his,” Trey repeated then paced away. The kernel of worry that had planted itself inside his head early in the interview wouldn’t leave him.
“What’s eating you?” Karl knew him well.
“It’s the kid. Quinn,” he clarified. “Although, the redhead, Mackie, is probably also in deep already. He seems better equipped to handle himself.”
“Come on. You’re not into that ‘too young’ shtick of Chin’s, are you?”
“Kind of, but it’s more than that. She’s not off-base about the idea of a syndicate. The signs are there, and if it is the Russian mafia, the kid could be in danger just from hanging around his new boyfriend.”
Karl shrugged. “Yeah, okay, except we can’t save everyone. He’s an adult. His first mistake may have been becoming a stripper. That can be a dangerous job.”
“Go-go boy.”
“Same dif.”
“Maybe.” Trey shook his head. “It’s not only that.” He took a deep breath to sort out whether he truly wanted to tell his partner his concerns. Yeah, what the hell. “Did you see his fingers?”
“Whose, Stelalux’? Sure, they’re weirdly long. Same thing for the whole family. Some kind of genetic thing, I guess. There’s probably a lot of inbreeding in the mountains.”
Trey shook his head. “No, the boy’s.”
“Nah, I was too far away to see much of anything.”
Trey gave him a wry grin. “Stuffing your face at the bar.”
“Sure. Why not? I didn’t have anything else to do and that Emil guy is a wizard with food.”
“No argument there. When I brought Quinn his breakfast, I saw his hand as he held the glass of juice. I made sure to bring the coffee so I could get another look.”
Opening his fist, he tapped the tip of his forefinger, middle finger and thumb. “There were marks in all three places. Not big, maybe the kind of thing that happens to diabetics when they test their blood.”
Now, he had Karl’s attention. “Maybe he is? Diabetic, I mean.”
“Could be.” He’d thought of that, and yet he couldn’t remember seeing anything like it in the previous interview. “Tough to swing around a pole like that.”
“I guess, but what else could it be?” The man paused, made a face, then swore. “Jesus, you’re not thinking Stelalux is sucking his blood, are you?”
“It’s a fetish club as well as a gay one. We’ve been operating under the belief that the unsub has a vampire kink.”
Hitching up his pants, Karl walked away, shaking his head and muttering. Trey followed him and pulled abreast. “I thought we just agreed Stelalux is too smart to shit where he works, eats, sleeps and fucks?” Karl asked.
“We did. I still believe that. I’m not saying he’s the killer. I’m not saying any of them are.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“I think they might know the killer.”
“If they do, then why not rat him out? They don’t need us and now the feds breathing down their necks, especially if they are mob-connected.”
“Maybe the killer is part of the mob. They could be holding out on us because they’re trying to track the guy themselves—silence him before we get our hands on him and start hearing tales we’re not supposed to.”
“Okay, it plays, I guess. So, what do you suggest?”
This was the tricky part. He stopped and pulled his partner to the side to let a pedestrian pass them. “We keep an eye on them. Let’s see if any of the Stelalux boys lead us to the killer.”
Karl raised his eyebrows. “We’re off the case. You know that, right?”
Shoving his hands in his front pockets, he gave the man a shrug. “Sure. I’m not suggesting we spend department time on this. We both knock off at six today, given that we are off the case. Nothing says we can’t hang out here afterward.”
“You’re not planning on telling Chin and her wonder dog?”
“Nope. No point. They don’t think we know anything useful. We’re just underfoot.”
Karl grinned evilly. “I like it.”
Trey clasped his hand on his partner’s shoulder. “I had a feeling you would.”
Chapter Eleven
Alex splashed more Maker’s Mark in his glass without looking. His attention was focused on Quinn, as it had been all evening. Damn. When had he ever stayed in one spot while his club was in full swing? Never. As the owner, he’d always glad-handed about, making newbies feel welcome and chatting with the veterans. It allowed him to keep his finger on the pulse of the place, not unlike what he’d done while captaining a ship.
Now, he was rooted to the spot at the end of the bar closest to Quinn’s little stage. Every man who approached him for a bit of conversation was an irritating distraction. Every man who circled the boy, offering him smiles and tips, was someone with a death wish. It took all his well-honed discipline to keep from dropping his fangs, hissing and clawing at any man that got between him and his boy.
My boy.
It had happened, despite his intention to the contrary. He’d become emotionally attached to another human in a way that could not be easily dismissed. He wasn’t going to use the word ‘love’—such a human emotion. His species didn’t even have a word for that one, although with his experience on this planet to guide him, he knew that his people avoided acknowledging something they felt, anyway. Harry would say that it was the ancient hive mentality coloring their views, even with evolution changing their society.
No matter. He lived on this planet now, among humans, and regardless of what he said from time to time to his people, he didn’t believe they would ever be rescued. The new queen and her court would have already added hundreds of males to the ranks of soldiers. Would they still be fretting over the loss of a few dozen? Hardly.
This was his home now, and with Dracul on a tear again, it scared the ever-loving shit out of Alex to tie himself to someone new that the man could rip from him. Yet living alone with only occasional sex partners and liters of banked blood to keep him company was becoming in
tolerable. Had become so, even though he’d ignored his own feelings. He desperately wanted someone in his life to share everything with, including his bed, including his need for blood. As stupid and as frightening as it was, he’d already come to need Quinn. It was selfish of him to keep the boy close and put him in harm’s way. He should toss him out for his own good, and still…
He watched a club member tuck money into Quinn’s G-string, the man’s hand lingering longer than necessary. It stayed on the boy’s slender hip while Quinn undulated in graceful waves that showed how quickly he’d acquired the moves of a go-go boy. The man said something. Quinn bent to hear better, smiled and, with a slight shake of his head, straightened to swing around the pole.
The man walked away in obvious disappointment, but Alex grinned at the sight. He took a long swallow of his bourbon, relishing the burn down his throat. Quinn was refusing to provide lap dances. It was the only explanation of why man after man kept leaving the stage with that look on his face, like his mommy had refused to buy him an ice cream cone. In his own way, Quinn was establishing a type of monogamy that spoke volumes about how the human perceived their burgeoning relationship. It was a risk, keeping him from much-needed money for something Alex had given him little reason to believe was long term.
Alex would have to remedy that tonight. In the face of his lover’s courage, he could do no less.
“He’s improved rather quickly, hasn’t he?” This from Harry, who came to stand by Alex’s side. That was strange. The man usually didn’t come into the club area, being devoted to his husband and dismissive of the excesses of all vices practiced by the club members.
Alex tore his gaze from Quinn. “Is something wrong?”
“Ah, no,” the man replied with a negligent wave. “I could use a drink, though.”
Another unusual thing. It made Alex frown with concern as the older man reached behind the bar and snagged a glass for himself. He poured a healthy portion of the bourbon and grimaced around a big swig of it.
Blood Dance Page 18
