Blood Vice Page 5

  “Really?”

  She snorted and spat in the sink. “Hate to burst your blood bubble, but you don’t get a cape either. So unfair, I know.”

  “But sunlight is a definite no.” I twisted my arm around and found three black lines cutting across my skin, right under the cap of my shoulder. “Why hasn’t this healed, like my neck did?”

  Mandy stepped out of the bathroom and took a closer look at my arm. “That’s sun damage. It won’t heal—not fully.”

  I groaned. “So beach vacays are out, along with the fine dining. What else should I know?”

  “Hmm?” Mandy had dipped back inside the bathroom and was pillaging through my makeup drawer. She held up a tube of peach lipstick and made a gagging noise.

  “I know you were looking forward to ransacking my place, but since I’m alive and all, could you maybe…not?” I said.

  She continued her rummaging. “Technically, you’re not alive. You’re one of the undead.”

  “I’m alive enough to kick your ass.” I tossed the covers back and threw my legs over the side of the bed.

  Mandy slammed the drawer and rolled her eyes. “This would be sooo much easier if you had died. I probably would have found the Scarlett Inn by now and saved everyone.”

  I gawped at her. “No one’s keeping you here. I’ve been out cold for, what?” I did the math in my head. “Fifteen hours? You could have taken off any time.”

  Mandy groaned and grasped her hip with one hand. “I couldn’t very well leave you naked on the floor for your sister to find, now could I? She would have called an ambulance, and then one of the hospital spies would have alerted House Lilith. They’d send in the cavalry, and when they were done covering up this shit show, there wouldn’t be enough of you and me left to interest your sister’s rat-faced Duncan Punkin.” The corners of her mouth twisted downward. “The way she baby talks that thing…it’s criminal. Makes me want to eat him out of pity al—”

  I held up a hand to shush her. “Back up. House Lilith? That’s the second time you’ve mentioned them. Who are they?”

  Mandy tucked a lock of her unruly hair behind her ear and hugged herself. “They’re the vamps that make the rules—around here anyway. They’re responsible for keeping our kind safe and in the shadows. If you put a toe out of line, they’re the ones who chop it off.”

  I shuddered. “Do they run this Scarlett Inn?”

  “Doubt it.” Mandy shrugged. “But then again, I’m not exactly on the up and up with all the latest vamp news. I’m a mutt, so I do my best to stay off their radar.”

  “A mutt?” The word seemed so degrading.

  “I don’t have a pack,” Mandy said. “Not officially, anyway.” She inhaled a soft gasp. “I guess you’re sort of a mutt, too, since I ate your sire and all.”

  My skin crawled at the memory of the creep who had feasted on me. My sire. The word felt all wrong. Of course, I didn’t think he had intended for me to survive our little encounter.

  “How did this happen?” I asked, waving a hand down at myself. “Obviously, it was an accident, but…how—”

  Mandy lifted both eyebrows and barked out a laugh. “Dumb luck? Hell if I know. I mean, I’m not exactly a tidy eater—”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “So maybe some of Raphael’s blood got into your mouth?”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. The cop in me was searching for the big money questions now, and I could tell her patience was wearing thin. “How do you know this Raphael?”

  Mandy sighed and circled out of the bathroom and around to my closet. I didn’t reprimand her this time, hoping the leniency would earn me a few more answers. She knelt down and inspected the shoes on the rack that ran under my hanging clothes.

  “Raphael runs the Inn—he and his sister, Scarlett. She’s the brains, and he’s the muscle. He also breaks in a lot of the girls.” Mandy’s shoulders squared, and she cleared her throat before going on. “I’ve never known him to turn one, though. Baby vamps are harder to control than baby wolves, so they have a deal with a local alpha. A free ride for a bite,” she said, holding up a pair of battered Converse sneakers.

  “Ugh. Why?” Maybe I wasn’t acclimated enough to my new condition to think it through on my own, but I couldn’t understand the benefit of a harem of unwilling, werewolf prostitutes. From the cold rage in Mandy’s eyes as she looked up at me, I wasn’t sure I wanted to understand.

  “Werewolves heal faster than humans,” she said softly, nestling her legs under herself where she sat in my closet. “The vampire clientele like to feed, and the wolves like it rough. Catering to them is a dangerous job, and not one that any of us did willingly. A human brothel wouldn’t cut it. Not if they wanted to stay in the shadows.”

  “How many girls did they have when you escaped?”

  Mandy hung her head, letting her hair fall over her eyes. She rubbed the back of her hand under her nose and took an unsteady breath. “Too many.”

  * * * * *

  It was nearing nine before I worked up the nerve to leave my bedroom and face Laura. I left Mandy to forage in my closet after giving her permission to wear whatever she wanted. How could I deny her anything after what she’d been through? Of course, her abrasive attitude was sure to exhaust my charity soon enough.

  The door to my and Laura’s old room was closed, but I could hear her cooing to the Chihuahua on the other side. All the lights in the house had been left on, and the television hummed with some celebrity gossip show. It was the most alive the place had felt in a long time, and it made me ache with memories.

  Laura’s yoga mat was laid out in the middle of the living room floor. So very Hollywood of her. On a normal day, I would have taken a long run around the neighborhood and maybe lifted weights at the gym with one of the officers I used to patrol with. I had a feeling there were no more normal days in my future. I didn’t know if working out was even necessary now. Didn’t all vampires come equipped with superhuman strength and speed? Or was that another disappointing myth like the cape? I really needed someone who I could ask these things of besides Mandy.

  Laura opened the bedroom door and gave an exaggerated gasp as she stepped into the hallway. “Wow, you’re actually up. I thought maybe you planned to stay in bed until I left.”

  “You’re leaving?” I asked, the disappointment surprising me as much as it appeared to surprise Laura.

  “Eventually,” she said, folding her arms above her perfectly flat stomach. The sports bra and matching spandex shorts weren’t just for show—though Laura modeled for the brand on occasion. “I tried to wake you earlier, but that dog of yours is a heathen. It growled at me every time I opened your door and wouldn’t stop until I closed it.”

  “She was trained to be a guard dog. Sorry about that.” I gave her a sheepish grin.

  “You might want to check your closet for buried treasure.” Laura crinkled her nose.

  “I’m sure it’s fine.” Explaining that Mandy could use the toilet in my bathroom seemed like a bit of a stretch, so I left it at that. If this House Lilith were half as scary as Mandy made them out to be, I didn’t want to put Laura in any danger.

  Laura’s brow furrowed as she glanced down at my backward tank top. “I almost called your boss to come to the rescue, but then I found your note on the kitchen counter about not feeling well—along with the vomit. I don’t know why you didn’t come tell me yourself.”

  I shrugged one shoulder. “Didn’t want to give you any cooties if I was coming down with something.” Mandy really had been looking out for me. I wondered how many times this particular excuse would cut it. Probably not very many. Man, this was going to get sticky fast.

  “I cleaned the kitchen,” Laura said, making a face. “The smell was too much, and Duncan kept licking at the floor.”

  “Sorry about that. And thanks,” I added, giving her a sincere smile. Cleaning puke wasn’t something she was probably accustomed to, having a whole staff of maids at her disposal. “I can still
make pancakes if you want,” I offered.

  “Don’t bother.” Laura gave me a tight smile. “Really, it’s fine. You just had the worst day ever. You don’t need to be catering to an uninvited houseguest.”

  I sighed, feeling like a total jerk. “I’m really feeling much better. Have you eaten dinner? If not pancakes, would you like me to fix something else?”

  The telephone in the living room rang out a shrill note, cutting off anything Laura might have said. I was too stunned to answer, considering I only ever received a handful of solicitation calls on the landline. Most of my calls went to my cell—which was in evidence and had likely been turned over to the FBI. I wondered what kind of nightmare reclaiming my stuff would be.

  Before the second ring had finished, the answering machine clicked on, and our mother’s familiar voice filled the silence. “Freeze! You’ve reached the Skye residence. We’re out saving the world, but we’ll get back to you in the nick of time. Give your statement after the beep.”

  Laura’s eyes never left mine, and I was sure the pain in them matched my own. The machine let out a long beeeep! and then Vin’s nervous voice filtered through the speaker.

  “Uh… It’s me again. Vin.” He cleared his throat. “Dr. Hart. I was just calling to see how you were feeling. And to apologize some more, and to see if there was anything I could bring you—food, alcohol, a shoulder to lean on. Anyway…call me back when you get this. Please.”

  When he hung up and the answering machine gave its farewell beep, Laura pressed her lips together. “Was that who I think it was?” she asked, her cheeks turning pink.

  I nodded. “Vini, Vidi, Vici. I scared him shitless when I woke up in the morgue, and now he’s hooked. It’s like high school all over again.”

  Laura took a deep breath through her nose and her back straightened. “Why is Mom’s voice still on the answering machine? You realize what that must make people think, don’t you?”

  I ground my teeth together. “Why should I care what people think? And why should I change the recording? It’s still relevant. This is the Skye residence. Most people call my cell anyway. The only reason Vin used the landline is because my cell is turned off—” I stopped suddenly, realizing that was far too many excuses for someone who didn’t care what anyone thought. From the look on Laura’s face, she realized it, too.

  “Fine.” She nodded as if pacifying a child. “Leave it.”

  “Tell me you don’t miss the sound of Mom’s voice,” I said, hugging myself to keep from crying.

  “Ohhh.” Laura sniffled and gave me a cold look. “The nostalgia wore off after the third call. Now it just hurts again. Check your messages.” She rolled up her yoga mat and then left the living room, closing herself inside our old bedroom again.

  I slumped down in the recliner next to the answering machine. The red light flashed the number nine. I cringed and pressed play. The first two messages were from Vin, apologizing up and down for telling the captain I was alive. He rambled on and on, explaining in detail how it had happened. How the captain had shown up to take another look at my body—and well, it wasn’t there. If I didn’t have other reasons for hating Vin, I could have almost forgiven him.

  The third message was from the FBI agent taking over my case, a man named Roman Knight. He had a deep, commanding voice that very politely requested an audience with me. Soon. The fourth message was from Alicia. I listened to it twice, feeling my heart knot itself up with panic when she said she and Serena would be stopping by to see me tomorrow.

  The fifth message was from Vin. Again. This time, he asked if there was anything he could do to apologize. He promised he would do anything for my forgiveness. Something told me he wasn’t talking about the slip-up with the captain. A little late for that one, buddy.

  The sixth message was from the captain, asking about my doctor’s appointment—the one I never scheduled, since I’d slept like the dead all day. I vaguely wondered if there were any doctors who saw patients at night. Then I wondered how problematic that would prove when they discovered my abnormal heart rate and wanted to put me in a medical journal.

  Something clicked in my brain as I remembered Mandy’s warning about involving human doctors, but it escaped me as the seventh message began. “Detective Skye, this is Special Agent Knight. Again. As the only eyewitness to the most recent incident in my investigation, I cannot stress enough the importance of our interview. Please call me back as soon as humanly possible.”

  Goosebumps crawled up my arms. Could he know something? Or did he always say humanly with such emphasis? Who was this guy anyway? I added Googling him to my immediate to-do list.

  The eighth message was from the department shrink. Laura crept out of our old room in time to overhear it.

  “This is Dr. Townsend. I’m calling for Detective Jenna Skye to confirm her appointment for Monday at three. Please give me a call back if you’d like to meet sooner, dear. Thank you.”

  There was no sense in writing down the time of my appointment, because as long as it was during daylight hours, I was screwed. I hit delete, and then mashed the button a second time before Vin’s final, pathetic message could air.

  One catastrophe at a time.

  Laura cleared her throat. “Dr. Townsend. Isn’t she a psychiatrist?”

  “My partner died. She’ll have to clear me for duty before I’m allowed back.” I didn’t want to talk about my mental stability, or Will for that matter. Luckily, Laura didn’t either.

  “What happened to your arm?” She nodded down at the black lines along my shoulder.

  “It’s nothing. What sounds good for dinner?” I asked, changing the subject yet again.

  Laura shrugged. “I’m on a diet.”

  “But you were going to eat pancakes this morning?”

  “So? That’s pancakes.” She made a face at me and grasped her hip.

  “I’ll get you a salad from the Spaghetti Factory then,” I said, standing up from the recliner.

  Laura’s brows knit together. “What’s wrong with the Pasta House? It’s right around the corner.”

  “I have a couple errands to run on the other side of the city. I won’t be long.” I crossed the room and dug a light jacket out of the coat closet. It would help disguise the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra. If I went back to my bedroom to change, I was sure Mandy would insist on tagging along. Having a missing girl—or a wolf that barely passed for a German Shepherd—in my car didn’t seem like a very good way to stay under the radar.

  Laura watched me slip on a pair of my mowing shoes, also scavenged from the coat closet, with a disapproving frown. “Did you call a cab?”

  I pressed my lips together and wiped my palms down the front of my yoga pants, fending off the sweat before it had a chance to rise. “No. I’m taking the Bronco.”

  Laura blanched. “You still have that thing?”

  “Why not? It runs great,” I said, a defensive edge creeping into my voice.

  I avoided her glare and checked the jacket’s pockets, finding only a handful of quarters, a rubber band, and a half-melted tube of cherry lip balm. I fingered my blond hair back into a messy ponytail with the rubber band, earning an extra sour look from Laura.

  “You’re begging for split ends,” she said.

  I ignored her and proceeded to apply the lip balm as if it could somehow make up for my sloppy appearance. I was sure that was at least partially to blame for Laura’s horrified expression. She wouldn’t be caught dead in yoga pants on a Saturday night. Not in public anyway. Of course, I’d be caught dead in everything from here on out. So why not start with yoga pants?

  “Chicken Caesar okay with you?” I asked, slipping the lip balm back into my pocket.

  Laura shrugged one shoulder. “Sure.” The Chihuahua yipped from the bedroom as if he’d understood the word chicken. “Ask for the dressing on the side. It doesn’t agree with my Duncan’s tummy.”

  “Got it,” I said, refraining from rolling my eyes.

 
; I mentally patted myself on the back as I headed for the garage. That made two encounters with Laura in a row that didn’t end with one of us screaming. Maybe there was hope for us yet.

  I just wished our happy reunion hadn’t taken me dying.

  Chapter Eight

  I didn’t take the Bronco out often. Maybe once every three or four months to blow out the cobwebs and refresh the fuel. A little more often during the summer. Up until a week ago, I had a patrol car that I was cleared to use off-duty. As a probie vice detective, I rode along with Will in his unmarked Charger. He’d been picking me up before our evening stakeouts this past week.

  I wasn’t really sure where that left me in the transportation department now, but Mathis would figure that out whenever I was cleared to return. There was too much else on my mind to worry about it at the moment.

  I pressed the garage door button on the wall and waited for the overhead light to flicker on. Then, I yanked open the middle drawer of the tool cabinet in the corner and rummaged around my mother’s mismatched collection of wrenches and screwdrivers until I found what I was looking for.

  The Bronco keys were attached to a small foam shark missing half its tail—courtesy of Maggie—and a lumpy ceramic badge that I’d made in grade school. There were separate keys for the ignition, the driver’s door, the glove compartment, and the back hatch. They’d been with the crusty beast of a truck for as long as I could remember.

  Mom had driven an unmarked car as a detective, so the Bronco had served as my and Laura’s training vehicle. It wasn’t much to look at, with its beige and mud-colored paint job and rust-spotted fenders, but it was reliable. The late eighties model came with a removable top that was nice during the summer since the AC smelled like something had died in one of the vents. I didn’t have time to mess with it tonight, so I cranked down the window after I’d climbed inside.

  The garage light spilled down the length of the driveway and tapered off in the street. It shouldn’t have, but it surprised me. The rest of my life would be spent in this darkness. No more sunny days cruising along the back roads with the top off. No more playing on the PD’s softball league. The slivers of happiness I clung to were evaporating at an alarming rate.