Sanguinary (Night Shift Book 1) Page 3

  If this had been the first victim, I would have looked for some significance to the body’s placement near Dealey Plaza. But this was victim number eleven, and there was no discernible pattern in where the killer was leaving the bodies.

  I scanned the lab report from the opera house crime scene. According to the technician, the word Sanguinary had been written in human blood—B-negative, the same type as the victim’s, though a DNA match wouldn’t be available for a few more weeks. But the vic had the same kind of blood crusted on her right index finger and some residue of what might be the same kind of paper. The report was carefully worded to avoid making any definite claims, but I could read the lab tech’s opinion through all the science-speak: The victim, now identified as Felicia Monroe, had almost certainly scrawled the word in her own blood, then hidden the paper in her hair. Or maybe the perp had used her finger and done it.

  Moving to the reports on the victim, I read that Felicia Monroe hadn’t gone to the opera that night. She was a buyer for a local department store. Her husband thought she was away at a professional convention in Shreveport, but she had never shown up at her destination, according to both the Shreveport Convention Center and the Hilton where she had reservations. No one had known she was missing, but she had been away from her family for at least four days before she showed up dead in the Arts District.

  I turned my attention back to the photos from the new crime scene.

  This time, the vic was a vamp-junkie, all thin hair and papery, yellowed skin. But like the others, her body had been stretched out, arms and legs pointing in four different directions, abdomen and thighs covered in strange, spiky symbols. She also had deep holes gouged into what few meaty parts she had left.

  I was uncomfortably reminded of Garrett. I probably should have paid more attention to him, should have noticed his downward spiral. I’d even seen some of the wounds on his arms, running up the insides of his elbows like track marks. But he’d told me that they were old. He said that they healed more slowly because of his addiction, not uncommon for cops who had been deep undercover. He claimed that his doctor was working on it. And it never occurred to me to ask the squad doc to verify his story, because I assumed that Garrett would never lie to me.

  We were partners—had been for three years, since I’d come up through the ranks and made detective, albeit on the Sucker Squad.

  He had been my mentor since I had joined the specialized squad.

  I had wanted to be a homicide detective, solving the mysteries of why: why murder, why him, why her, why kill at all?

  And I guess I was in homicide. But the homicides we investigated all had the same solution: vampires.

  I was the first woman on the Sucker Squad, but the distinction was short-lived. Jeanie Vincent had been promoted less than a month later. All things considered, I preferred having another female detective on the squad to any prestige I might have gained from being the only woman in the unit. And I liked Jeanie’s no-nonsense approach to the job, especially compared to Garrett’s desire to feed the monsters.

  Even so, I had been absolutely certain that Garrett always had my back.

  Until that night three months ago.

  It had been Garrett’s night off, so I took the lead when Jeanie and I answered a resident’s call reporting vampire-related activity in her building. There was probably also drug-related activity, given the neighborhood, but the caller hadn’t seemed concerned about that.

  I was the first one into the dingy basement room. I kicked in the door and saw three vampires—two female, one male—all fastened like lampreys on a mostly naked human on the floor.

  I didn’t even recognize Garrett at first. His face was contorted into a grimace that was half pain and all pleasure. I was already partway across the room before my mind processed what my eyes were seeing and I stumbled to a halt, turning away from the sight.

  “Get him out of here,” I said to Jeanie, who had moved up behind me and placed a hand on my shoulder. I jerked away from her. “Not now. Deal with him.”

  She nodded and slid past me, pulling the vamps away from Garrett’s prone body. I cringed at the sucking, ripping sound their mouths made as they were torn away from his skin. They snarled, but backed away from the long knife Jeanie brandished at them after she nicked the throat of the closest one. I backed her up with a stake, and the vamps huddled in the corner.

  “No.” Garrett moaned and stretched his arms toward the last vamp who’d been pulled away.

  Suddenly, the room was too hot. I could smell the sweat, the blood. It smelled like sex and violence.

  Bile rose in my throat and my stomach clenched. I stumbled blindly back up the stairs and outside, gulping the cool night air.

  Jeanie led Garrett up the stairs. His eyes were glazed.

  My teeth clenched. “Okay. Let’s get out of here.” I jerked my chin toward the unmarked car I was driving. Garrett’s eyes focused in on me.

  “Cami,” he murmured.

  I shook my head and got into the front seat while Jeanie directed the uniforms who had joined us to clear out the nest.

  “Okay,” she said after guiding Garrett into the back seat. “We’re ready.”

  We kept the windows rolled down, but the rotten-meat stench of the vampire den kept wafting toward us from Garrett’s clothing.

  It hadn’t occurred to me then to ask why he’d been in the basement rather than a blood house, where the blood-taking was at least formalized, and presumably controlled.

  With a shudder, I shook off the memory. I had more important things to do now, like figure out who was killing women in Dallas, why they sucked the life out of their victims, and why they left pentagrams parading across the bodies.

  Not all of these victims were junkies first—I was sure of it. There had to be more to this story.

  The new crime-scene pictures and the reports had been in the mail drop the department had arranged. I assumed the captain had them sent to me so I would have all the information I might need.

  And maybe to remind me what I was dealing with.

  Like I could forget.

  Chapter 3

  “Can I get you something to drink?” the bartender asked. I leaned against the bar in the blood house, my sleeve brushing Reese’s. Only three nights had passed since the first visit, and once again I was wired, Iverson and his crew listening in. Garrett had walked in with me, but I hadn’t seen where he’d headed next. I was trying not to think about it.

  “A glass of the house Shiraz,” Reese said.

  “With or without?” The bartender sounded bored. He couldn’t have been more than nineteen or twenty. I didn’t think he was a vampire, and I didn’t see any scars—but I didn’t understand how a human could work here, night after night.

  Maybe he liked the rush of danger.

  Or maybe he didn’t acknowledge his own mortality.

  A small smile played around the edges of Reese’s mouth. “Without, please.”

  Or maybe I didn’t understand vampires yet.

  “You?” The bartender turned to me.

  “Cranberry juice, please.” I wasn’t about to risk getting drunk.

  “With or without?”

  I looked at Reese questioningly.

  “Without,” he said. The bartender nodded and turned to fill our orders.

  I leaned toward Reese, tilting in close enough that the brim of his black felt cowboy hat shaded me from the harsh light of the glittering chandelier. “Without what?” I asked.

  “Blood.” One corner of his mouth crooked up as he waited for my response.

  “Oh, God.” Even though I’d been whispering, my voice echoed into a momentary lull in the conversations surrounding us. I lowered it. “That’s nasty.”

  Reese grinned. “Actually, darlin’, it’s pretty damn tasty. And it serves as both a drink and a meal.” His drawl was out in full force.

  I swallowed convulsively.

  “Well,” Reese said, the crooked lip deepening into a full-bl
own grin, “I guess it’s a good thing for both of us that I ordered our drinks ‘without.’ I’d hate for you to cause a scene.”

  The bartender handed me my glass and I took a sip. But not until after I had examined the drink, the glass, and the rim of the glass for any bloody remains.

  Reese leaned back against the bar, one booted foot propped up on the base of the barstool next to him, one hand propped in his pants pocket, and took a sip of his wine.

  “So what do you need to know?” Reese asked.

  I matched his stance, lowering my voice and checking to make sure no one was listening. Apparently, our little show two nights ago had diverted any suspicion—exactly as it was meant to—leaving us free to talk more or less openly. “A rogue vamp, killing humans. Leaving the bodies in carefully arranged poses.”

  “So I’ve heard,” said Reese. “Arranged in star-shaped configurations?”

  I blinked. “Some of them. What else do you know?”

  He pursed his lips as he looked around the room, watching for something he apparently didn’t see.

  “We need any information you have,” I pressed. “The Vamp Admin isn’t talking to us—and that makes it seem like they have something to hide.”

  “I don’t know anything definite yet.” He shrugged, most of his attention still on scanning the room.

  I sipped my drink and changed tactics, determined to get more information from the vampire. “Can you really introduce me to the local admins?”

  “Definitely.” His gaze settled on something on the other side of the room, and his voice grew clipped. “Get ready. We’re up.” I mustered up the courage to take another drink of my cranberry juice, forcing myself not to turn around to find out what had caught his eye.

  I didn’t have to wait long. A tall man moved up to the bar, shouldering his way in between us. His short, thick hair was mostly dark, but silvered at the temples. Silvery glints highlighted the rest of his hair, as well. Laugh lines crinkled the edges of his eyes and creased the corners of his mouth.

  After the bartender handed him his drink, he turned and tipped his glass toward me in acknowledgment before taking a sip. From the viscous smear the dark red drink left as it slid back to the bottom of the glass, I could tell that this man had ordered his drink “with.”

  I swirled the juice in my glass, staring down at it.

  Strange. I wouldn’t have pegged him for a vampire.

  He looked too…the word that came to mind was distinguished, but as I looked around, I realized that what I really meant was old.

  On the whole, vampires were young—or at least, young at the time of their death and subsequent un-death. I mean, that was part of the allure, right? Die now; stay young forever.

  In three years on the Sucker Squad, I had never seen a vamp who had been turned after his or her late thirties, tops. They were narcissistic; they liked others just like them: young, beautiful, and amoral.

  I glanced back up from my drink at the older vampire and realized he had engaged Reese in quiet conversation. I leaned toward them, intending to join their discussion. I didn’t get very far, though, because a pair of hands clamped down on my shoulder.

  “Hey, baby,” a male voice whispered in my ear. His words slurred a bit and his breath carried the copper stench of blood, overlaid with the astringent smell of alcohol.

  Can a vampire get drunk? I wondered. It was my last coherent thought for the moment because just then he sank his fangs into my neck, above the opposite shoulder from my Reese-born wounds.

  My yelp of pain brought Reese’s attention to me, but before he could even move my police training took over. I stomped on the vampire’s instep then twisted out of his grip. His teeth ripped through my skin with a tearing, searing pain.

  And then my world slowed down as it always does in a fight, my idiosyncratic reaction to adrenaline coursing through my body.

  I felt the blood well up in the new wound. The air brushed cold against it as the blood slowly fell to the ground in huge, splashing drops that were slung out to the side as I spun. I grabbed the vampire’s hand, twisted his arm up behind his back, and pushed him to the floor, holding him down with my knees in the center of his back, my hand resting on the stake in the holster at the small of my back.

  So there I was, kneeling on the back of a vampire in a blood house. With lots of other vampires in the room. Most of them, it seemed, were standing around me in a big, ugly vampire circle. And some of them were hissing.

  Not a pupil to be seen, I thought as I stared up into the ring of glowing blue eyes. I’m about to die. And I think I’ve blown my cover. Oh, fuck.

  My gaze flickered from vampire to vampire, finally settling on Reese. He nodded once and stepped toward me, turning to make eye contact with each of the vampires surrounding us.

  “This one is mine.” His voice echoed into the suddenly silent room. Without looking at me, he waved two fingers in a downward, slicing motion.

  My cue.

  Maybe we could salvage this operation after all.

  I pulled the stake from the holster, and with one quick, jabbing motion, I slammed it through the downed vampire’s back and into his heart.

  Three years on the Sucker Squad, and I still wasn’t used to how easily the wood penetrated through whatever it is that leaves vampires impervious to other weapons.

  I always feel it when the life force leaves a vampire, and this time was no different. The almost electric shock shuddered up the stake and into my hand right as I ripped the wood out of his back.

  “She’s mine,” Reese said again as a few of the vampires hissed. He reached back to grab me by the arm and hauled me up to my feet so that I stood with my back against his chest. “I Claim her. He tried to bleed her without my permission. This kill is mine.”

  The older-looking vampire took a step forward and surveyed our little tableau. His nostrils flared.

  “No,” he said.

  No? What did he mean? I turned my face up to Reese’s, eyes wide. Reese didn’t look at me. Instead, he raised one eyebrow at the vampire.

  “No?” Reese repeated. He spoke more slowly now, his voice a deep, almost mocking drawl.

  “She may indeed be yours, but you have not Claimed her.” The older-looking vampire’s nostrils flared even wider, and he closed his eyes as he breathed in deeply. “In fact,” he said, “you haven’t bled her at all tonight. I’d be surprised if she’s been bled more than once, maybe twice, in the last week. She’d be worth it, though.”

  Taking a deep breath, I resecured my grip on the stake.

  The older-looking vampire smiled at me. It deepened the creases around his eyes and mouth and actually made him even more attractive. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief. I watched him warily as he reached out and placed it gently against the wound on my neck. I nodded my thanks and pressed against the fabric, but kept the hand with the stake free.

  With a slight smile, he stepped back, moving out of my personal space.

  “However,” he said to Reese, “I think that we’ll allow you to claim the kill. On one condition.” He waggled his finger to include both of us in his condition. “You must come back to my office and explain why you would assert a Claim that has not been made.”

  “Your office?” I asked. “Here?”

  The vampire nodded, amusement sparkling behind his gaze as he watched me put together the pieces.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “How remiss of me.” He reached out and took my right hand, completely ignoring the stake in my grasp as he raised it to his lips in an old-fashioned, courtly gesture. “My dear, I own this blood house. You may call me Don Mendoza.”

  “Mendoza,” I repeated. “Administrator Mendoza?”

  The Mendoza who ran all of Dallas had just seen me kill a vampire? Oh, shit. Was my cover intact? I watched the administrator carefully for any sign that my takedown had set off alarms.

  Mendoza raised his voice so it could be heard throughout th
e blood house. “This bloodgiver has passed my test. The kill is Claimed. She is protected by Reese, and you are not to touch her without permission.”

  Passed his test? The administrator of Dallas had set a vampire on me as a test?

  Iverson’s voice echoed in my ear. “Damn. Cami, you need to get out of there.”

  Mendoza raised his eyebrows at the sound of Iverson’s voice and gripped my hand tighter. His nostrils flared again. “Indeed.”

  Chapter 4

  We followed Administrator Mendoza back past the bar and through another red-velvet-curtained division. He led us to a hallway with several doors on the right-hand side and opened the first of these doors. I glanced nervously over at Reese, but he neither answered me nor returned my look. He simply took off his cowboy hat and tapped it against his leg.

  “My dear,” Mendoza said, turning to me, “I will need you to remove your surveillance equipment. I do hope you understand.” He glanced at Reese, shaking his head in mock sadness. “I do not understand why you attempt to gain information by subterfuge when you know it will not work.”

  He thinks Reese arranged for the bug? Small favors.

  Without taking his eyes off of the administrator, Reese tilted his head in my direction. “Take off the wire, Cami.”

  My hands shook as I reached up and pulled out the earpiece, offering it to the administrator. He gestured behind us, where a large, muscular vampire waited. “Please give them to Jorge.”

  Jorge took the equipment and Mendoza ushered us into his office. Reese placed one hand on the small of my back as we moved through the doorway. I found the contact strangely comforting.

  Mendoza’s office looked much like the rest of the blood house—red and black with lots of velvet. He had a definite theme going here. I wondered in passing how he managed to get blood out of velvet.

  I bet his cleaning bill is enormous.

  I checked the handkerchief Mendoza had given me, and then reached up to gingerly explore the tear in my neck. Although blood had soaked through the cloth, the wound itself had stopped bleeding. I considered offering the handkerchief back to Mendoza, but opted instead to tuck it in a pocket.