Retribution

“Okay, okay. Tell me. What is this about?”

Williams’ thoughts darken. Vampire corpses are showing up drained of blood. There have been six in the last week alone.

It’s not easy to kill a vampire.

The Revengers? I ask. They’re a group of human vampire slayers.

He shakes his head. No. The Revengers don’t leave corpses. They don’t want to attract attention to themselves any more than we do. This is something else—something different. These corpses are left in plain sight, for the human community to find.

By the human community, I know Williams is referring to the police. I also know Williams was recently forced to resign as chief of police—a position he held for many years until a case I was involved in turned public opinion against him.

It wasn’t my fault and it wasn’t his.

He follows my train of thought. It diffuses some of his anger and when he comments, it ’s surprisingly without bitterness. “It was time I resigned. The position was too high profile. It’s not the first time I’ve found myself in this situation. It won’t be the last.”

Vampires, like humans, are creatures of habit. Williams has been in law enforcement of one kind or another for two hundred years. He’ll undoubtedly follow that same path when it comes time for him to move on from San Diego.

“You know how the police are handling it?” I ask.

Old habits are hard to break. He goes into cop mode to answer.

“So far, the vamps have all been young females newly turned. Exsanguination is the cause of death. A small wound at the jugular made by a weapon of indeterminate origin. The bodies have been found in different jurisdic tions throughout the county. The only reason we know they are vampires at all is because our contact in the coroner’s office recognizes what the total absence of food in a digestive tract means.”

He doesn’t expound on any of these things, but I understand. Especially that the vamps are all newly turned. If a vamp is destroyed by stake or fire, he leaves nothing behind but ash. If he is killed any other way, by draining, for instance, his body reverts to its human age and an autopsy would reveal nothing but intact human organs. They no longer function, which would not be obvious, but neither do they shrivel or disappear. A newly turned vampire would appear normal.

“I haven’t seen anything in the newspapers about bodies turning up.”

“Not yet,” Williams replies. “The police are playing it quiet. So far, the victims all seem to have been young people who have fallen off the radar. No missing reports filed, no families have come forward to claim the bodies. Whoever is doing it is choosing his victims carefully.

That will change the first time he fucks up and a victim turns up who has been reported missing.”

Williams stands up. “I’ve done what I came here to do,” he says. The civility is gone from his tone. “I thought you should know what’s been happening. You may be in danger. You are slightly older than the others, but you fit the profile. You are newly turned and you have a penchant for pissing people off.”

“You’re telling me to watch my back?”

“I know your partner is out of town and your family is gone. I’d like to think you’ll live long enough to get over your childish refusal to integrate into your real community. Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. Frankly, I don’t care one way or the other.” But there are others who do. The thought is squelched the instant it forms in his head.

He watches to see if I caught it. I did. Same tune, different song. He puts his hand on the doorknob and twists. “You know where to find me.”

He walks out and I’m right on his heels. I’ll think about what he’s told me later. Right now, it’s one pain in the butt down, one to go.

Time to find out what put the bug up Sandra’s ass.

There’s a human behind the bar—a guy I’ve seen here before. One of Culebra’s gofers.

“Where’s Sandra?”

He shrugs. “Errands. She told me to tell you not to wait. She didn’t know when she’d be back.”

Terrific.

CHAPTER 8

THE ONE BRIGHT SPOT IN A SHITTY DAY IS THAT Lance is at the cottage when I get home.

He senses my mood the minute I walk in the door.

“So what’s up? Trouble with Culebra?”

He’s sitting on the couch, a magazine open on his lap. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans, no shirt, no shoes, and must have just come out of the shower because he smells of my soap and shampoo. Only Lance could make the citrus of my favorite Chanel fragrance, Chance, smell masculine and sexy.

I sit down next to him. “You smell good.”

He drapes an arm over my shoulder. “And you smell like cigarette smoke and stale beer. You’ve been in a bar?”

Two in fact. An image of that girl in TJ and her dead eyes makes me squeeze my own shut in exasperation.

He reads my reaction and the reason behind it. “Must have been hard, seeing that girl. I’m surprised Culebra would have chosen a spot like that to meet you. Why not Beso de la Muerte?”

I let him pick the story out of my head. “He set you up?” he asks in surprise. “With a story about Sandra?” Lance and I had just met when Sandra arrived in town the first time. He’s heard the whole story. He’s one of the reasons I made it through that period without going crazy.

“What did she say?”

“Never got the chance to talk to her. Williams took over.”

I replay the episode for him through the lens of my aggravation. He listens with quiet concentration until I get to the part about Lance not being bright enough or strong enough to hold my interest.

“That guy is a jerk,” he says. Then he starts to laugh. “Did you really clock him?”

I pantomime a right hook to the jaw.

“Wish I could have been there to see it.” He takes a sip of his wine, tilts his head, studies me. “I think he’s jealous.”

“What?”

“I think he has the hots for you.”

“He hates me,” I reply with a snort. “And he’s married.”

Lance’s turn to snort. “He’s a male, isn’t he? He’s got a dick. Why else would he disrespect a guy he doesn’t know?”

He tightens his arm around my shoulders. “What do you think about the rest of the story? The vampires turning up drained?”

I shrug. “I don’t know what to think. I don’t know why he came to me with it. I don’t know what he expects me to do.”

Lance interprets my chagrin. “Do you think he wants you to come back to the fold? Help him track whoever or whatever is doing this?”

I snuggle against his chest. “If he thinks I’d work with him after all we’ve been through, he’s delusional. He’s got the Watchers to figure it out.” I let my hand slide to the bulge between his legs. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. There must be something more pleasant for us to do.”

He laughs and gives me a nudge. “Let’s get you into the shower. Wash away the bar stink first. Then we’ll see what comes up.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice.

SOMEBODY SAID THE SEXIEST ORGAN IN THE BODY IS the brain. Must have been a vamp. It isn’t possible to explain how much of a turn-on it is to be able to feel your partner’s desire and react to it without relying on words. Lance and I don’t have to tell each other what we want. We feel it. We anticipate it.

The air around us becomes charged. First in the shower, then after, again, in bed, the shock of him runs through me like a current. I welcome him into my body, into my head, and it’s more than sharing a moment of physical need. It’s allowing him into my soul.

It’s the second bright spot in an otherwise dreary day.

ONCE AGAIN, LANCE IS GONE WITH THE FIRST LIGHT of day. This time he’s leaving for New York. Abercrombie & Fitch tagged him for their new winter catalog and the shoot will last a week.

I start to miss him before the door snicks closed.