chapter 2
Sergeant Reid Sheridan tried to appear intimidating but he didn’t look all that tough. Average height. Lean. Business-short dark hair and dark sunglasses in a not so brightly lit room. Gerard gave him a cursory inspection and came to a swift conclusion. Sheridan was ambitious but lacked the experience to climb above his current rank. He wasn’t a threat. Although, he could prove as irritating as a gnat. The woman, on the other hand…
Gerard’s gaze slid to Sheridan’s partner. Attractive brunette in a shapeless brown suit. Cream-colored blouse.
A thin chain with a silver cross drew his attention. Not that he or any vampire had an aversion to crosses. It was the silver. Vampires had a deadly allergy to silver and a respiratory reaction to garlic.
Funny the way mortals developed entire myths around the tiniest bit of information.
Amber Buckley wore her hair scraped back in a severe style that made her high cheekbones stand out sharply, giving her an air of superiority. She carried herself with quiet confidence and barely flinched when her partner failed to introduce her by rank. Gerard attributed it to class and sophistication. Then he met her direct gray gaze.
Bon Dieu! Such fire and intelligence in those beautiful eyes.
His body tightened as if an electric current passed between them.
Tina was barely cold in her grave.
Pain as sharp as the blade that took his life over two hundred years ago twisted his gut. Tina was dead because of him—viciously murdered because she’d wanted to help bring him out of the dark world he inhabited.
Inhaling sharply, he fisted his hands at his sides and tried to calm his raging anger. His gaze shifted from Buckley to Sheridan. Perhaps the sensation he’d felt when looking at Buckley was nothing more than a warning. Between her and her partner, Buckley was the more dangerous of the two. She was open-minded and intelligent enough to discover things best left undiscovered. It didn’t take glamour to see that.
Even with the “deer caught in the headlights” expression she wore when he glanced at her, he could see the wheels in her mind spinning. Then her spine stiffened and those shapely brows snapped down over deep-set eyes—as if she were trying to read his thoughts.
Now, that was a truly frightening concept.
Sheridan removed his sunglasses, drawing Gerard’s attention once more. “Where were you on the night of March 5, between four and five a.m.”
Vincent bristled. “Hasn’t he answered those questions already?”
Sheridan ignored him, keeping his gaze on Gerard.
Gerard didn’t want mortals investigating the murders, but if he wanted to live among them, he couldn’t manipulate them—much. He folded his arms over his chest. His eyes narrowed. “Like I told those other two detectives, I was in Alexandria.”
La beauté’s lips twitched in a smile that looked more like a sneer. Had he thought her a class act? Class A bitch was a role she played well too, and he didn’t mean that in a bad way. She was cool. Sophisticated. And she carried authority like a man.
“Can anyone verify that?” she asked.
His expression never changed. He’d invented cool before her great-great-great-great-great grandfather was even born. “Yes.”
This time, Sheridan bristled. “What were you doing in Alexandria, Virginia at four in the morning? You weren’t sleeping. We didn’t find any record of a hotel reservation in your name for that night.”
Gerard looked at Vincent who was now leaning casually against the conference table, his cool demeanor restored. Their minds briefly connected. Sonia, Vincent’s creator and master manipulator of mortal technology, had done her magic and covered Gerard’s ass. Gerard suppressed a smile.
“Of course you didn’t. I used a corporate credit card to pay for a two-night stay at the Morgan Suites. As the major shareholder in Lifeblood of America, Vincent’s name is on the account.”
Detective Buckley jolted as if caught off guard. Of course, she couldn’t have been prepared for his answer. He hadn’t given this information to the original detectives. Sonia had needed time to manipulate credit card records and flight logs. He’d needed time to manipulate Lifeblood’s pilot and the hotel night clerk’s memories.
Anger twisted his gut. Safeguarding vampires hampered his efforts to investigate the murders himself.
“Why haven’t you cooperated before now?” Detective Buckley asked.
There was no practical excuse for an innocent man keeping such vital information to himself. An objective analysis of possible responses made him look guilty—or like an uncooperative ass.
He adjusted his tie, hating the modern fashion accessory. The detectives watched his movements with suspicion, most likely interpreting his actions as the nervous gesture of a guilty man.
Stifling a groan, he lowered his hands and shoved them into his suit pockets. “I answered the other detective’s questions. I just didn’t elaborate. I wanted to confer with our attorney first. Axle Travers is his son.”
With Axel still missing, Brit wouldn’t remember if he’d discussed the case with Gerard or not. Concern for his son took precedence over everything else.
“We haven’t forgotten Mr. Travers’ son,” the beautiful detective responded, her voice losing its sharp edge.
Sheridan glared, his jaw set at a rigid angle. “Can you produce receipts to prove you were in Alexandria?”
Vincent responded in an authoritative tone that inspired obedience without the use of glamour. “Our accountant can. If you’ll stop by the reception desk on your way out, Miss Jackson can give you whatever you need, including the name of our company pilot who can confirm Gerard’s flight to Alexandria that night.”
His veiled dismissal went unheeded.
If the situation weren’t so dire, Gerard would have laughed. Vincent didn’t like being ignored. Fortunately for the detectives, he didn’t like manipulating mortal thoughts either. Otherwise, he would have mentally compelled them to leave without their knowledge or understanding.
“Did you order room service while you were there? Make any long distance calls?” Detective Buckley’s voice remained cool. Undeterred.
Gerard smiled. “I ordered a meal before checking out on the evening of the sixth.”
Buckley wasn’t a fool. Even if Gerard could verify having checked into the hotel, she wanted proof of his whereabouts during the time of the murders.
Claiming to have flown to Alexandria didn’t preclude his renting a car and driving back to Asheville in time to kill Tina and Richard—except he was supposed to have XP. The timing of the murders would have prevented him—or anyone who actually had XP—from making it back to Alexandria before sunrise.
Ironically, those afflicted with xeroderma pigmentosum were almost as vulnerable to the killing rays of the sun as vampires.
While Sheridan drilled Vincent about Gerard’s credit card usage and room service order, Gerard stared into Detective Buckley’s eyes, searching her thoughts. He hated the necessity, but he had to find out what she knew of Tina’s killer. It wasn’t just about revenge. It was about protection. When mortals knew vampires existed, it put everyone in danger. And he didn’t want the authorities focusing on him while Tina’s killer went free.
He reached for the table behind him. Reading mortal minds made him dizzy. Getting past Detective Buckley’s defenses challenged his abilities.
Her mind rebuffed him like a brick wall. He persisted, breaking through her mental barriers until distorted images and random thoughts from the detective’s brain filled his head, confirming what he already suspected. Despite careful planning, he was still a person of interest.
The police believed he had the means, opportunity, and motive to commit murder. He was Lifeblood’s after-hours acquisition consultant. He worked with the transplant teams and procurement groups, coordinating the transfer of organs and unallocated body parts. The initial detectives believed this gave him access to morgues—and a trocar—the weapon supposedly used to kill Richard Baxter.
A rogue vampire drained Richard of blood. And a knife was used to cover up the fang marks.
But a mortal killed Tina—a mortal who knew about the vampire vaccine. And there was only one mortal who knew so much about vampires and had the ability to capture them.
But how had Dr. Steve Weldon gained a vampire’s cooperation?
Gerard looked deeper into the detective’s mind. The Asheville PD suspected him of having an affair with Megan and believed Tina threatened to tell Vincent. They believed the murders were the result of a love triangle gone wrong.
Quelle idée idiote. The idea was ridiculous. Nothing could be further from the truth. But at least the Asheville PD didn’t suspect vampires. He should be grateful for small favors, he thought as he pushed at Detective Buckley’s uncooperative mind, trying to delve deeper.
Random flashes of unrelated events diverted her thoughts—horrific images of blood and war. Gerard intensified his efforts, trying to understand the discordant memories that flashed through her mind without rhyme or reason.
A wave of dizziness broke his concentration.
Gripping the table to keep his balance, he backed out of her head, taking several deep breaths to regain his equilibrium.
Detective Buckley blinked back into focus. Her face was pale, her big gray eyes wide and frightened.
“Gerard!” Vincent snapped, gaining his attention. “You did sign your own name to the credit card slips. Didn’t you? It’s company policy.”
His name was added later, and the night clerk—whom he’d not met until several days after the murders—would swear in a court of law he remembered Gerard checking in because of the discrepancy between the name on his credit card and the name used when he signed the bill.
It was so much easier to manipulate the mind than read it. But mental manipulation wasn’t always reliable and implanted memories were often forgotten.
“Oui. Don’t I always? Besides, I’d never do anything to make Megan jealous. And I was on company business,” he said, implying Vincent’s sharp tone was about the credit card usage. The mortal detectives would never guess the real cause of Vincent’s irritation was Gerard’s intrusion into the detective’s mind.
“What sort of company business?” Detective Buckley asked.
Sheridan sneered. “Did you do something to make Maxwell jealous?”
A flash of anger heated his skin. Grinding his back teeth, he ignored Sheridan and answered Detective Buckley. “I had an appointment with Dr. Geniis. We met in the hotel lobby that night. He’s done extensive research on protein therapy lotions. We’re trying to acquire his services.”
The lie slipped smoothly from his tongue. Years of practice, he supposed. He hated the necessity, but it had become a matter of survival when he first began the practice as a mortal fighting with General Marquis de Lafayette against the radical Jacobins during the French Revolution.
Detective Buckley’s eyes softened. “What’s the lotion for?”
She knew. Or suspected. Gerard could smell her pity like a noxious perfume. His lip curled. He didn’t need her sympathy. If she couldn’t find Tina’s killer, he needed nothing from her.
“It’s a sunblock.”
“For people like yourself and Mr. Maxwell who suffer from XP?” She leaned in. Sheridan’s sneer turned nasty. His bad cop to her sympathetic cop. Vincent was thinking the same thing.
Gerard almost laughed. The protein therapy lotion helped vampires taking the anti-vampiric vaccine tolerate minimal exposure to sunlight without bursting into flames. It allowed them to venture out before sunset and pass more easily as human. But its major benefit was to patients with XP.
“The lotion is protein specific. It enables those of us with XP to better tolerate brief periods of sunlight without risking serious burns or cancer,” he said by rote.
“It’s my wife’s pet project,” Vincent added. “Megan’s sister died from complications of XP. That’s how we met.”
What he didn’t say was that he’d sought out Megan because she once worked for Dr. Weldon, the researcher who’d tried cloning vampires for the military. Megan had inadvertently created the sedative that enabled him to capture Gerard for his experiments.
Weldon’s attempt at cloning had failed, and the colonel who hired him for the black ops project had been court-martialed. But Dr. Weldon remained at large. And he now had samples of the vampire vaccine.
Had promises of a cure convinced an unsuspecting vampire to assist Weldon with his latest project? It’s the ruse Weldon had used two years ago to lure Gerard.
Anger flared once more at the reminder of his own naivety.
Sheridan’s mouth curved upward, his smile contemptuous. “Is that how you met Dr. Harper?” he sneered. “Did she show you as much sympathy as she showed her husband? Did the two of you get close? Maybe a little too close?”
Gerard narrowed his eyes but said nothing. Bâtard.
Vincent, hotheaded as ever even after two-hundred years, moved at vampiric speed reaching the arrogant detective before the last word left his mouth. He glared down at the shorter man, fury radiating from every pore. Somehow, he managed to resist snatching Sheridan up by his lapels.
“My wife has nothing to do with this. She’s not to be questioned,” Vincent ground out between clinched teeth.
It was more than a hypnotic suggestion. It was a command the detective wouldn’t disobey. Ever.
“Stand down, Maxwell.” Detective Buckley slipped her hand inside her brown jacket. Her voice was sharp, her movements militarily precise.
Vincent’s gaze remained fixed. Intense. Had Buckley been able to see his eyes from where she stood, she would have seen the glowing red stare of a nocturnal predator.
“I said, stand down!” She withdrew her weapon.
Gerard eased away from the conference table. She swung her aim toward him. He held up his hands and smiled.
“Easy now. There’s no need for violence. My partner was just defending his wife. He’s made no threats. And he’s calm now. See?”
She glanced at Vincent. He’d stepped away from Sheridan. His face was as expressionless as marble and just as cold. Sheridan nodded.
“No need to question his wife,” he parroted. “She’s not involved. Our focus belongs on his partner, Mr. Delaroche.”
Gerard raised a brow and looked at Vincent. Thanks mon ami. Put the focus back on me.
You can handle it. Megan can’t.
Vincent was wrong. Megan was tougher than he gave her credit for. But he loved her beyond reason. And he’d die to protect her.
Gerard envied them that. He’d hoped to find that kind of love with Tina. But now he was destined to spend his life alone. And that hurt almost as much as losing her.
****
Amber holstered her Glock and eased her hand away, her fingers missing the security of the checkered-textured grip. “You going to give me trouble, Maxwell?”
“Of course not.” He sounded calm. Reasonable. But he’d seemed that way milliseconds before he snapped, moving faster than humanly possible to stand menacingly close to Reid.
One minute he’d been calmly leaning against the conference table. Then he wasn’t. And she never saw him move.
Just like that time in Germany.
A chill crawled over her skin. She shook it off. This wasn’t Germany. She wasn’t newly arrived from a fifteen month deployment in Iraq, and she wasn’t suffering from combat fatigue or post-traumatic stress. She knew what she’d seen. Or hadn’t seen. And she hadn’t seen Vincent Maxwell move.
So how the hell had he gotten from Point A to Point B?
She looked at Reid. He was glaring at Delaroche instead of Maxwell. “You okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” He glanced at her from over his shoulder and then returned his attention to Delaroche. “I want to see your receipts. And don’t think for a minute we won’t go to Alexandria. We’re not only going to request a copy from the Morgan Suites, we’re going to show the clerk some photographs and ask him to identify you. You got a problem with supplying a copy of your employment photo?”
Delaroche looked at Maxwell. Both smiled the oddest little smile. “Not at all,” Delaroche said. “Miss Jackson can get that for you too.”
“Fine.” Reid turned sharply and headed for the door.
Amber stood for a moment, looking from Delaroche to Maxwell. What the hell just happened?
They’d lost total control of the interview. Somehow, the suspects had taken charge. Not that she’d gone in thinking Delaroche or Maxwell was a cold-blooded killer, but now, she suspected both men of a cover-up. They may not be directly involved, but they knew something and they weren’t talking.
Her chest tightened. So did her fists. She raised her chin and met Delaroche’s gaze. His penetrating blue eyes jolted her. She wouldn’t call it attraction, but there was definitely chemistry. And she didn’t like it. She would, however, use it to her advantage.
“Where’s Axle Travers?” she asked, her voice as compassionate as she could make it.
Mr. Cool shrugged those massive shoulders, showing no emotion—except in the depths of his blue gaze. He wasn’t the iceberg he pretended to be. There was a crack in his frozen armor and that crack shone in his eyes.
Grandma always said the eyes were the windows to the soul—God rest hers.
“He’s obviously involved, but is he a conspirator or a victim?” she asked.
Maxwell snarled. “If we knew that, we’d find him.”
Delaroche said nothing, but there was now a tick at the corner of his left eye. Her questions were getting to him.
She hid a smile and turned her focus on Maxwell while keeping Delaroche in her peripheral vision. “So, you admit you’re not helping.”
“I didn’t say that,” he ground out.
Maxwell was the hothead. The one with the temper. She could push him—rile him until he made a mistake. If these two were involved in the killings, Maxwell was the one who’d get them caught.
“Well, you pretty much admitted you could find him if you knew whether he was a victim or not. Sounds like you just don’t want to cooperate. Too much bother,” she said with a shrug.
Fury colored Maxwell’s face. His eyes flashed red. Amber jerked and met his gaze. His eyes were a dark, angry brown—not the glowing red of a predatory animal’s.
Shaking off a momentary chill, she reached inside her jacket pocket and pulled out two cards. “If you change your mind and want to talk, give me a call.”
She handed one card to Maxwell. He tossed it on the table without looking at it. She gave the other card to Delaroche. When he took it from her hand, their fingers touched. The resulting sensation was like grabbing hold of a live wire. Hot sparks rushed up her arm and pierced her chest. Her heart jumped.
Delaroche pulled his hand away as if burned.
He’d felt it too.
She rubbed her fingers and met his gaze. Her mind went all fuzzy again.
“Are you coming?” Reid called from the door.
She shook her head to clear the sudden lethargy that seemed to steal her strength. Before she left the room, she turned one last time, meeting Gerard Delaroche’s intense gaze. “We’ll be back.”
His smile stole the breath from her lungs. “I’m looking forward to it.”