Assassins Bite (15 page)

“You don't get it.” Ric wouldn't meet Aiden's eyes. “You have no idea what it's like, having your mate taken from you. I'm ready to crawl through walls to get her back.” He started shaking. “She made her scream. I heard her over the phone. Eloise made my mate scream.”

God.
Aiden took a deep breath. “Ric, I know it's hard, but please. Don't rush in. You have to trust the process. Trust
me
.”

“Blackthorne?” Steel said from the phone. “No joy.”

Aiden's very ribcage seemed to crush. “Her phone is off?”

“No, it's at the bottom of Lake Michigan.”

“Thanks.” Aiden clicked off.

But from Ric's white face, he'd heard. “Damn it, we're in over our heads.”

“It's just her phone Ric, not her.”

“Doesn't matter. We need to do something
now
.” Ric's jaw firmed. “We need Elias.”

“No.” Aiden scowled. “He didn't help us last time. Nothing's changed.”

“But he did help, remember? Just not directly.”

“His annoying cryptic questions?” Aiden's scowl deepened. “We don't need his kind of help.”

But Ric was already thumbing in the number. The call connected instantly.

Before Ric could even open his mouth, Elias said, “Hello, Mr. Holiday.”

“Damn it.” Ric stared at the phone. “Are you omniscient?”

“No.” The deep voice was, as Aiden remembered, dark as the depths of hell. Tonight, hell was gently amused. “I have caller ID. Hello, Mr. Blackthorne.”

Aiden stiffened. “I'm making background noises this time.”

“Yes, I admit it was a bit of a guess. Mr. Holiday only calls me when he's in severe trouble. When Holiday's in trouble, Blackthorne is at his side. What is the problem?”

“Don't you know?” Aiden was actually a bit relieved.

“Only that it has to do with Eloise Nosferatu kidnapping Dr. Holiday.”

“What the fuck?” Aiden grabbed the phone so he could shout directly into its microphone. “How do you know that? Are you in on it?”

“No,” Elias said mildly. “But the situation, or one like it, was inevitable. It was only a matter of time, after that picture appeared.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Doesn't matter.” Ric snatched the phone back. “Can you help me find my wife?”

“Perhaps. But finding your mate won't keep Eloise from stealing her again.”

Ric's fangs shot out and his eyes boiled red. Before he could do something he'd regret, Aiden plucked the phone from his fingers. “Now listen here, Elias.” His tone was as deadly soft as it ever got. “Enough of the enigmatic shit. Ric Holiday is my best friend, and his wife is in danger.”

“Exactly,” Elias said, as if Aiden were a star pupil.

Rage lit him like a wildfire, “We don't have time for your games! If you won't help us—”

“No games, Mr. Blackthorne. Understanding. That was a lovely full-color picture in the national papers of that Irish Festival of Lights parade, Mr. Holiday and his wife in Kelly green, sitting in the marshal car—”

Aiden was about to ream the ancient vampire a new asshole through the phone.

“—gazing lovingly into each other's eyes.”

When he was suddenly stunned by the implications.

“That was a covert signal,” Ric said. “For Eloise to find us so we could talk over how to avoid Nosferatu…fuck, you know the details. What's the problem? That the picture brought us to Eloise's attention?”

“No,” Aiden said. “He's saying that it brought your
happiness
to her attention.”

“Because I have a wife? Why would that matter? Eloise is a vampire. She can find all the companionship she wants.” Ric flashed Aiden a frustrated look. “Mr. Elias, either help me find my wife or not but don't make me jump through hoops.”

“Mr. Holiday,” Elias said in that gratingly patient tone. “I am helping. Put yourself in the patent leather shoes of a young human girl. What is your heart's desire?”

“I've had it.” Ric growled low. “I know I'm the one who called but this is useless—”

“Food.” Aiden gripped Ric's shoulder and caught his friend's eye.
You know he won't give us the answer straight out—we have to work for it.
“Shelter.”

“She has all these things,” Elias said. “Courtesy of a doting father.”

“Friendship,” Ric said grudgingly. “Love.”

“She's young, Mr. Holiday. She doesn't know what real, hardworking love is. But what does she know?”

Silence. Ric exchanged another frustrated glance with Aiden.

A sigh from the phone. “Fairy tales. Romance. She knows very little about reality, but she's read the stories. The archetypes are imprinted in her heart. Father, Lover, Friend. That's dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Aiden frowned. “Why?”

“Because they're ideals, Mr. Blackthorne. No one can live up to ideals.”

Ric looked to Aiden, cut a glance at the phone and rolled his eyes. Aiden read that look loud and clear. Nobody could live up to perfection—except Elias.

A deep chuckle rippled over the phone. “Not even me, Mr. Holiday.”

“Damn it,” Ric said. “How do you do that?”

“Millenniums of experience. The point is, think back. Is there an episode when Eloise might have felt herself living in a fairy tale? And might you two have been involved?”

Unbidden, Aiden remembered the incident with Samson. His sixteen-year-old self, rescuing Eloise like a knight-errant. Ric comforting her like a bosom friend. And Nosferatu swooping in, paying attention to her for once when mostly he ignored her.

Aiden had been wounded that day. She'd tended him. Damn it. The silver bomb, the electrified pool—had she been trying to injure him so that she could nurse him, trying to recreate that day?

“When we escaped from Nosferatu,” Ric said. “She threw herself at her father so that Aiden and I could get away. We always wondered why. You're saying that was a grand romantic gesture?”

“Not consciously,” Elias said. “She was a child, her motivations buried in her psyche. But after you left, Nosferatu imprisoned her for her own safety. Even more isolated, her only reality her tales, what do you think she expected from you?”

“That we'd return,” Ric whispered. “We'd storm the castle and take her into happily ever after.”

“And when we didn't…” Aiden forced the words through a suddenly tight throat. He didn't like the picture he was getting.

“Exactly,” Elias said. “It soured her. Stewed inside her.”

“We did return for her,” Ric said. “Later. But she'd already escaped on her own.”

“Why didn't she look for us then?” Aiden said. “After she left Nosferatu?”

“Perhaps she hoped you'd find her,” Elias said.

“But we didn't.” Ric's face was white. “We didn't even ask her to find us. Until the photo.”

“She asked us not to,” Aiden reminded him. “She wore pink.”

Elias said, “Pink isn't always a signal, Mr. Blackthorne. Sometimes it's a fashion statement.”

“The hurt she must feel.” Ric clenched his eyes. “She probably dreamed up dozens of plots for revenge.”

“Yes. And worse—plotted a way to reclaim her romantic ideal. Turn back the clock.” Elias paused. “Seeing you happy prompted her to act. She couldn't stand you being happy without her.”

Ric shuddered. “That's horrible.”

“All this talk of feelings.” Aiden slashed a hand through the air. “None of it matters. Eloise kidnapped Ric's mate. We need to get her back.”

Silence. Then Elias said, “It's more than talk. You must be careful, Mr. Blackthorne. Who do you think her real target is?”

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“Who hurt her the most? That's her real target. By all means, rescue Dr. Holiday. But Eloise will only take another, and another, until you truly understand.”

“Thanks for nothing.” Aiden clipped call end—and was hit by an earthquake shudder, a bad feeling gone nova.

Sunny was in danger.

Chapter Sixteen

I was on patrol, though not in uniform. I'd traded my cop shoes and dress blues for sneakers and jeans—it wasn't like there were enough buttons left on my jacket for coverage.

As I mentioned, there's not a lot for a cop to do in the law-abiding Corners. I had time to think. I'd told Blackthorne about Elle Louise Smith and discovered that her real name was Eloise and the bloodcurdling fact that she was a vampire, but hadn't found out anything more about their relationship other than his cryptic “She's my problem”. I tried to make sense of it all. Who was she? More importantly, who was she to
him
?

After marching up and down streets a good ten minutes, worrying at it, I decided fuck it. I was treating the issue like a girlfriend, not a cop. A cop would grab the suspect and interrogate the hell out of him…er, her. I didn't know where she was, but I knew where
he'd
be. I headed for Dawn Truck Lines, hoping to find him.

Hey, I'd gotten lucky there before.

Let me rephrase that. I meant lucky finding him, not lucky in love…well, maybe that way too.

My spirits lifted as I swung along. Maybe enjoying light shoes on my feet. The buzz of anticipation effervesced into tuneless whistling. I made good time and soon was skipping up the front stairs. I reached for the door…

It was ajar.

Immediately I clamped lips, all buzzing dying. I drew my service weapon…unbalanced momentarily when I drew a lighter gun. Damned Tight-Ass for jumping to the conclusion that I was too much of a Ruffles to use it responsibly. At that moment I was wickedly glad I'd kept quiet about my backup gun.

As soundlessly as possible—I couldn't really tell with my heartbeat whooshing in my ears—I checked my BUG, mentally rehearsing a dynamic entry. Quick swing of door to expose whole room; scan floor to ceiling; if clear, enter diagonally, checking blind spot corner.

One more breath and I was ready to go—

A thud, like a body being thrown against the door, slammed it shut in my face. Shouting erupted, topped by a blood-curdling scream, the resexptionist auditioning for a role in
Nightmare on Friday the Thirteenth Street
.

That knocked me out of TV-cop mode. I followed procedure and radioed for backup. Alice Schmidt, MCPD nightshift dispatch since forever, promised to send first available. I hoped it was Officer Keck, our car patrol. He was solid.

Then I went in. “Police!”

My jaw dropped. The front office was in pandemonium. Bigger than uproar, bigger than riot; straight out of Milton's
Paradise Lost,
this was Pan-
Demon
ium, emphasis on demon.

Monsters, complete with dripping fangs, red eyes and plated faces, tore into each other and tossed the bits across the room. Even the resexptionist had grown a bony face mask and raked indiscriminately with nails the size of dog claws.

Two vampires fought near me. One wore the Dawn logo, the other a Lestat coat. “Where's Blackthorne?” the Lestat snarled. “We owe him a lot of pain.”

“He's not here, asshat,” the trucker snarled back.

“Police,” I shouted again in Jonesy's bellow. “Stop this
at once
.” I took a bold step into the room.

The two vampires glanced at me and stopped fighting.

Well, yay. Maybe my inner Authority had finally kicked in.

Then the Lestat grinned at me—and licked his fangs, part slavering chops and part sharpening knives. I shivered. So much for my imposing presence. I recognized Mr. Licky as Skiver of the Worst Nightmare Quartet. If he'd come looking for revenge on Blackthorne, he had to be disappointed. Blackthorne definitely wasn't here. 'Cause, come on. If he'd been here, they'd all be vampire sushi by now.

They'd brought backup. By rough estimate, there were two dozen Lestats, to maybe a dozen Dawn employees. The only reason the Dawn group was holding was they had home court advantage.

Then it hit me.
Blackthorne wasn't here.
I was a bloodbag without backup. Panic hit me, hot acid in my throat. I swallowed it; liquid fear pooled in my stomach and trickled into my gut. With so many of them my options were limited.

Run. Or lose my lunch then run.

I wished really, really hard that Blackthorne would show up.

The door slapped into my back. Blackthorne? Maybe a good fairy had heard my Ruffles plea.

“Sunny? Alice called me, and said you needed backup. Or she didn't call me exactly since it was a general call on the radio. Another vampy-oopsie? Uh-oh. Detective Ma'am won't like that—”

“
Dirk
?” I was swearing off wishes. My brother was almost reverse-Blackthorne. He'd keep yapping while vamps inserted their juicebox straws into his neck. I grabbed him by the shoulders, turned him and tried to shove him out the door. “Run!”

He refused to budge. “No, no. You should never run from vampires. They automatically chase running prey.” He wore his obstinate face. He wasn't leaving.

What can I say? He was my brother. If he wasn't leaving, I wasn't leaving either.

Which meant, despite Elena's warning, fighting vampires.

Did I mention the Lestats outnumbered us two to one? Magnum joined Skiver and tore the Dawn trucker apart.

After which the two vampires turned to Dirk and me—and grinned hungrily, fangs dripping. “I get the man.” Skiver glided toward Dirk. “He's bigger. More blood.”

I breathed out my fear. I had to defend my brother. I raised my gun, took aim at Skiver's heart and shot his chest into ground chuck.

Skiver made a sucking noise, twirled on his heels and fell with a thud. Revealing—

“
Hey
.” A head stuck up from behind one of the metal desks. “Watch where you're shooting. Human here!”

“Sorry.” I swallowed raw adrenaline. This was a huge fuckup. In my shooting frenzy I'd almost hit a person. No excuse—I knew the distance a bullet might travel after impacting soft tissue.

“Free blood!” A Lestat fell on the human.

“Get off him!” I aimed my gun in warning, but the vampire only grinned and wound up to bite. Why couldn't anyone ever see the gun, hear my authoritative bellow, and just give up?

Before I had to choose, two truckers pulled the Lestat off the man and started punching. The man dropped back down behind his desk.

Just as Magnum grabbed Dirk. “Hello, little blood buck.”

“Hello,” Dirk said brightly. “Do I know you?”

“Leave him alone!” I aimed my firearm at Magnum. If I had to shoot…I didn't want to hurt a human with friendly fire but this was my brother. I regripped my gun twice because my palms were slick.

“Fuck you, cop.” Magnum angled Dirk between us. “Now whatcha gonna do? Can't shoot me or you'll hit this boy cop.”

I grabbed my Glock with both hands. The damned bloodsucker was right. Fortunately, fighting wasn't only about hitting kill spots.

I lowered my aim and shot Magnum's foot. Right through the sensitive instep.

“Shit!” the vampire released Dirk and hopped back. “That hurts like a bitch. Why'd you do that?”

“You were going to suck him!”

“Just a little,” the Lestat pouted. “It wouldn't hurt. Not like shooting me in the damned foot.
Meanie
.” He shook his leg; the bullet clattered to the floor. With a dark glare at me, he grabbed Dirk again. “Pig brutality.” Before he put fang to skin, he glanced down and tucked his feet behind my brother. Jackass.

Now
what did I do?

Magnum executed that weird snake-like windup of his head, prelude to sinking in his fangs.
Whatever I did, it had to be now.
But I had no shot. I stood there, firearm leveled, the only target my brother.

Shoot through him. The belly or shoulder or…

No, no,
no
. I shook my head wildly, my hair flipping like a hula skirt, flinging the thought,
the darkness
, away.

While I was fighting myself, Magnum bit.

Dirk stiffened. “Ow.”

Damn it, I had to do
something
. “Let him go!” I holstered my BUG and charged, head down. I rammed them low. Razed their legs.

They went down. Dirk burst from the vampire's grasp. I rejoiced.

Magnum's fangs tore out of his neck. Tearing my brother's neck.

Blood spurted. The vampire's fang had nicked the carotid.

Oh God. What had I done?