Butch walked out of the captain's office. His holster felt too light without his gun in it. Wallet was too flat without his badge. It was like being naked.
"What happened?" Jos¨¦ asked.
"I'm taking a vacation."
"What the hell does that mean?"
Butch started down the hall. "Did the NYPD have anything on that suspect?"
Jos¨¦ grabbed his arm and pulled him into an interrogation room. "What happened?"
"I'm suspended without pay, pending the conclusion of an internal investigation. Which we both know is going to find that I acted with inappropriate force."
Jos¨¦ buried a hand in his hair. "I told you to back off those suspects, man."
"That Riddle guy deserved worse."
"Not the point."
"Funny, that's what the captain said."
Butch walked over to the two-way mirror and looked at himself. God, he was getting old. Or maybe he was just tired of the only job he'd ever wanted to do.
Police brutality. Screw that. He was a protector of the innocent, not some self-impressed skull-cracker who got off on being a tough guy. The trouble was, there were just too many rules favoring criminals. The victims whose lives were shattered by violence should be half so lucky.
"I don't belong here anyway," he said softly.
"What?"
There was just no place for men like him in the world anymore, he thought.
Butch turned around. "So. The NYPD. What did we find out?"
Jos¨¦ stared at him for a long time. "Suspended from the force, huh?"
"At least until they officially can me."
Jos¨¦ put his hands on his hips and looked down, shaking his head as if he were remonstrating with his shoes. But he answered.
"Nada. It's like he came out of nowhere."
Butch cursed. "Those stars. I know you can get them on the Web, but they can be bought locally, right?"
"Yeah, through martial-arts academies."
"We've got a couple of those in town."
Jos¨¦ nodded slowly.
Butch took his keys out of his pocket. "I'll see ya."
"Hold up¡ªwe already sent someone out to ask around. Both academies said they don't remember anyone buying them who fit the suspect's description."
"Thanks for the tip." Butch started for the door.
"Detective. Yo, O'Neal." Jos¨¦ grabbed Butch's forearm. "Damn it, will you stop for a minute?"
Butch glared over his shoulder. "Is this where you warn me to stay out of police business? 'Cause you might as well save the speech."
"Christ, Butch, I'm not your enemy." Jose's dark brown eyes were penetrating. "The boys and I are behind you. As far as we're concerned, you do what you need to do, and you've never been wrong. Anyone you've knocked around has deserved it. But maybe you've just been lucky, you know? What if you'd hurt someone who wasn't¡ª"
"Cut the preacher routine. I'm not interested." He clamped his hand on the doorknob.
Jos¨¦ squeezed hard. "You're off the force, O'Neal. And going half-cocked into an investigation you've been removed from won't bring Janie back."
Butch expelled his breath like he'd been punched. "You want to kick me in the nuts now, too?"
Jos¨¦ removed his hand, looking as if he were throwing in the towel. "I'm sorry. But you gotta know that getting deeper in the weeds is only going to screw you. It's not going to help your sister. It's never helped her."
Butch slowly shook his head. "Shit. I know that."
"You sure?"
Yeah, he was. He'd really liked hurting Billy Riddle, and that was about vengeance for what had been done to Beth. It had nothing to do with bringing his sister back to life. Janie was gone. And she'd been gone for a long, long time.
Still, Josh's sad eyes made him feel like he had a terminal illness.
"It's gonna be fine," he found himself saying. Although he didn't really believe it.
"Just don't... don't push your luck out there, Detective."
Butch threw open the door. "Pushing's all I know how to do, Jos¨¦."
Mr. X leaned back in his office chair, thinking about the night ahead. He was ready to try again, even though the downtown area was hot right now, what with the car bombing and the discovery of the whore's body. Trolling for vampires in the vicinity of Screamer's was going to be risky, but the risk of being caught added to the challenge.
Even more to the point, however, if you wanted to catch a shark, you didn't fish in freshwater. He had to go to where the vampires were.
Anticipation shot through him.
He'd been brushing up on his torture techniques. And this morning, before leaving for the academy, he'd visited the workspace he'd set up in his barn. His tools were gathered and gleaming: a dentist's drill set; knives of various sizes; a ball-peen hammer and a chisel; a Sawzall.
A melon bailer. For the eyes.
The trick was, of course, walking that fine line between pain and death. Pain you could stretch out for hours, days. Death was the ultimate off switch.
There was a knock at the door.
"Enter," he said.
It was the receptionist, the jacked woman who had arms big as a man's and no breasts to speak of. Her contradictions never ceased to amaze him. In spite of the fact that a raging case of penis envy caused her to take steroids and pump iron like a gorilla, she insisted on wearing makeup. And doing her hair. In her cropped T-shirt and leggings, she looked like a bad drag queen.
She disgusted him.
You should always know who you are, he thought. And who you aren't.
"A guy's here to speak with you." Her voice was about an octave and a half too low. "O'Neal, I think that's the name. Acts like a cop, but didn't pop a badge."
"Tell him I'll be right out." You freak of nature, he added to himself.
Still, Mr. X had to laugh as the door shut behind her. Him. Whatever.
Here he was, a man with no soul who killed vampires, and he was calling her a freak?
Yeah, well, at least he had a purpose. And a plan.
She was just going to Gold's Gym again tonight. Right after she got rid of her five-o'clock shadow.
It was a little before six when Butch pulled the unmarked up in front of Beth's building. He'd have to return the vehicle eventually, but suspended wasn't fired. The captain was going to have to ask for the damn car back.
He'd gone to both martial-arts academies and talked with the directors. One guy had been obnoxious. Your typical ass-kiss-craving, self-defense lunatic who'd convinced himself he was actually Asian. In spite of the fact that he was as white as Butch was.
The other man had been just plain weird. He'd looked like a 1950s milkman, with blond hair that had obviously been hit with some pomade and a bright, annoying smile that had missed its Pepsodent ad by nearly half a century. The guy had bent over to be helpful, but something was off. Butch's bullshit detector had spiked a serious woody the minute Mr. Mayberry had opened his mouth.
And the guy had smelled like a sissy, besides.
Butch leaped up Beth's front steps and rang her buzzer.
He'd left her a voice mail at work and at home telling her he was coming over. He was about to hit the button again when he saw her through the glass door, coming into the lobby.
Goddamn.
She had on a wraparound black dress that just about brought his headache back, it was so perfect for her. The vee in front dipped down and showed a little of her breasts. The tight waist set off her slim hips beautifully. And the slit up one side showed a flash of thigh with every step she took. Her heels were tall, making her ankles look fragile and lovely.
She looked up from the purse she'd been rummaging around in and seemed surprised to see him.
Her hair was up. He thought about what it would be like to take it down.
She opened the door. "Butch."
"Hi." He felt tongue-tied as a kid.
"I got your messages," she said softly.
He stepped back so she could come outside. "You got time to talk?"
Even though he knew what her answer was going to be.
"Ah, not right now."
"Where are you going?"
"I have a date."
"With whom?"
She met his eyes with such deliberate calmness, he knew the next thing she said was going to be a lie.
"No one special."
Yeah, right.
"What happened to the man last night, Beth? Where is he?"
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
Her eyes never wavered from his. "If you'll excuse me¡ª"
He gripped her arm. "Do not go to him."
The low sound of an engine filled the silence between them. A large black Mercedes with tinted windows pulled up. Real drug-lord time.
"Ah, fuck, Beth." He squeezed her arm, desperate to get her attention. "Don't do this. You're aiding and abetting a suspect."
"Let go of me, Butch."
"He's dangerous."
"And you aren't?"
He dropped his hold.
"Tomorrow," she said, stepping back. "We'll talk tomorrow. Meet me here after work."
Getting frantic, he put his body in her path. "Beth, I can't let you¡ª"
"Are you going to arrest me?"
Not as a cop, he couldn't. Not unless he was reinstated to the force.
"No. I won't take you in."
"Thank you."
"I'm not doing it as a favor," he said bitterly as she walked around him. "Beth, please."
She paused. "Nothing is as it seems."
"I don't know. I've got a pretty fucking clear picture. You're protecting a killer, and there's a serious chance you're going to get stuffed into a pine box. Do you understand what this guy is? I've seen his face up close. When his hand was around my neck and he was squeezing the life right out of me. A man like that has murder in his blood. It's his nature. How can you go to him? Hell, how can you let him walk the streets?"
"He's not like that."
But the words were phrased as a question.
The car door opened, and a little old man in a tuxedo got out.
"Mistress, is there a difficulty?" the man asked her solicitously, while at the same time shooting Butch the evil eye.
"No, Fritz. No problem." She smiled, but it was a shaky one. "Tomorrow, Butch."
"If you live that long."
She paled, but rushed down the stairs, sliding into the car.
After a moment Butch got into his. And trailed them.
When Havers heard footsteps coming toward the dining room, he looked up from his plate with a frown. He'd been hoping to make it through his meal without an interruption.
But it wasn't one or the doggen coming in with news that a patient had arrived to be treated.
"Marissa!" He rose from his chair.
She marshaled a smile for him. "I thought I would come down. I'm tired of spending so much time in my room."
"I'm very pleased to have your company."
As she came up to the table, he pulled out her chair. He was happy that he'd insisted her place was always set, even after he'd lost hope she would join him. And tonight it seemed as though she was making an effort with more than just coming to eat. She was wearing a beautiful dress made of black silk that had a jacket with a stiff, stand-up collar. Her hair was down around her shoulders, flashing spun gold in the candlelight. She looked lovely, and he felt a flush of animosity. It was a total insult that Wrath couldn't appreciate all she had to offer, that this exquisite female of noble blood was not good enough for him.
Other than for use as a feeding trough.
"How is your work?" she asked as she was served wine by one doggen. A plate of food was set in front of her by another. "Thank you, Phillip. Karolyn, this looks wonderful."
She picked up a fork and gently prodded the roast beef.
Good heavens, Havers thought. This was almost normal.
"My work? Fine. Actually better than fine. As I mentioned, I've had a bit of a breakthrough. Feeding may soon be a thing of the past." He lifted his glass and drank. The burgundy should have been a perfect accompaniment to the beef, but it tasted off to him. Everything on his plate was sour on his tongue as well. "I transfused myself with stored blood this afternoon, and I feel fine."
Actually, that was a bit of an overstatement. He didn't feel sick, but something wasn't right. That normal rush of strength had yet to hit him.
"Oh, Havers," she said softly. "You still miss Evangaline, don't you?"
"Painfully. And the drinking is simply not... agreeable to me."
No, he would no longer stay alive the old-fashioned way. From now on it would be clinical. A sterilized needle in his arm, hooking him up to a bag.
"I'm so very sorry," Marissa said.
Havers reached out, laying his palm faceup on the table. "Thank you."
She put her hand in his. "And I'm sorry that I've been so... preoccupied. But it will be better now."
"Yes," he said urgently. Wrath was just the kind of barbarian who would want to continue to drink from the vein, but at least Marissa could be spared the indignity. "You could try the transfusion as well. It will free you, too."
She took her hand back and reached for her wineglass. As she lifted the burgundy to her mouth, she spilled some on her jacket.
"Oh, bother," she muttered, brushing the wine off the silk. "I'm terribly uncoordinated, aren't I?"
She removed the jacket and laid it on the empty chair next to her.
"You know, Havers, I would like to try it. Drinking is no longer palatable to me, either."
A delicious relief, a feeling of possibility, overtook him. The sensation seemed wholly unfamiliar because he hadn't felt it in so very long. The idea that something might change for the better had become a foreign concept to him.
"Truly?" he whispered.
She nodded, pushing her hair over her shoulder and picking up her fork. "Yes, truly."
And then he saw the marks on her neck.
Two inflamed puncture wounds. A red blaze where she had been sucked. Purple contusions on the skin of her collarbone where she'd been gripped by a heavy hand.
Horror curdled his appetite, blurred his vision.
"How could he have treated you so roughly?" Havers breathed.
Marissa's hand went to her neck before she quickly pulled some hair forward. "It's nothing. Truly, it's not... anything."
His eyes stayed in place as he continued to see clearly what she had hidden.
"Havers, please. Let's just eat." She picked up her fork again, as if she were prepared to demonstrate exactly how one did that. "Come now. Eat with me."
"How can I?" He threw down his silverware.
"Because it's over."
"What is?"
"I have broken the covenant with Wrath. I am no longer his shellan. I will see him no more."
Havers could only stare for a moment. "Why? What has changed?"
"He has found a female he wants."
Anger congealed in Havers's veins. "And just who does he prefer to you?"
"You do not know her."
"I know all females of our class. Who is it?" he demanded.
"She is not of our class."
"She is one of the Scribe Virgin's Chosen, then?" In the vampire social hierarchy, they were the only ones above a female of the aristocracy.
"No. She is human. Or at least half-human, from what I could tell from his thoughts about her."
Havers turned to stone in his chair. Human. A human?
Marissa had been forsaken for a... Homo sapiens?
"Has the Scribe Virgin been contacted?" he asked in a brittle voice.
"That is his duty, not mine. But make no mistake, he will go to her. It is... over."
Marissa took a small piece of beef and put it between her lips. She chewed carefully, as if she'd forgotten how. Or perhaps the humiliation she was obviously feeling made it difficult to swallow.
Havers gripped the arms of his chair. His sister, his beautiful, pure sister, had been ignored. Used. Brutalized as well.
And all that was left of her mating with their king was the shame of being cast aside for a human.
Her love had never meant anything to Wrath. Neither had her body or her impeccable bloodlines.
And now the warrior had done away with her honor.
The hell it was over.
