Blood of Innocence (Sloan Skye) (20 page)

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Authors: Tami Dane

BOOK: Blood of Innocence (Sloan Skye)
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“Got it.”
“If we started ... spending time together outside of work, we’d eventually end up at each other’s throats again.”
“What makes you so sure of that?”
“It’s just a feeling I have.”
Gabe shrugged. “Can’t help a guy for trying, Sloan. You’re a beautiful, intelligent, interesting woman.”
“I’m a woman with a lot of baggage. Men don’t like baggage.”
“Some men don’t.”
Ready to leave, I reached for the knob again.
Gabe leaned over and grabbed it before I could. He stepped aside, pulling the door open. That left me no choice but to step past him to go outside. “Thanks again, Gabe. It was very nice—the way you looked out for my safety.”
“I’ve always got your back, Sloan. Don’t ever forget that.”
 
 
Twelve hours later, after a frustrating day at work—both Townsend’s and Volpe’s blood work had come back inconclusive, and the lab analyzing the swabs I’d collected called to say they needed more samples—I was standing in the police department’s parking lot, next to my car, being verbally assaulted by my mother.
“I hate you,” she snapped as she stomped around the front of the vehicle.
“I love you too, Mom.” I got in and buckled my seat belt. I powered down the window. “Come on, let’s go.”
“What you’re doing is unforgivable.”
“I know.” I shoved the key into the ignition and gave it a swift crank.
“It’s detestable.” She sat, slamming the door.
“Absolutely.”
“Then why are you doing this?” she practically shrieked after snapping on her seat belt.
“Because you’re driving me, my roommate, and every single person living in our building nuts. Prowling the house day and night, checking, double-checking, triple-checking all the windows and doors. Shouting obscenities and threats out the window—”
“I swear, I didn’t know Mrs. Heckel was outside, walking Daisy. She didn’t have to call the police.”
I twisted to face her. “Look, I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I have this huge, important case to work, and I need to concentrate on that right now. Women are dying. And nobody knows why. The answer may be sitting in my living room, buried in Dad’s stuff. I’m sorry, but I can’t deal with your bird phobia right now.”
“It’s not a phobia, Sloan. A phobia is an
irrational
fear of something. My fear is far from irrational.”
“Well, regardless, it’s causing huge problems for me and Katie too. If I take you back to our place, someone else will probably call the police again. And then what?”
“I’m sorry, but I have to protect myself, Sloan. And your baby brother or sister. Surely, you understand.”
“Not every bird in the world shifts into a vampire.”
“But that one does. It’s evil.”
“Mom.” I gave her squinty eyes.
“It’s the Devil in disguise.”
“No, it’s not. Most likely, it’s just a bird.” I crammed the key into the ignition and jerked it, starting the car.
“You’re wrong.”
I sighed.
Mom sighed.
We drove the rest of the way to the country club in silence. Mom took a little catnap. How I wished I could do the same! She woke up just as we turned onto the private drive leading up to the clubhouse.
She blinked. “Where is the bastard?”
“I’m guessing he’s waiting inside, not out here in the parking lot.”
“Chickenshit.”
“A bird, again, Mom?”
“What can I say? Lately birds have been on my radar.” Mom let herself out of the car. Still looking no more pregnant than me, she jerked her chin up and
click-clacked
up the front walk. I followed.
At the reservation stand inside, I stopped to give the hostess our name. We were led to an empty table in the very back corner of the dining room.
Mom complained as she slid gracefully into a chair. “He’s late.”
“I’m sure he isn’t late intentionally. Something important must have—”
“More important than me,” Mom interrupted.
“That’s not what I meant.” Slightly peeved, I searched the room with my eyes.
“You’re on his side.”
Where the heck is he?
“I’m on nobody’s side.”
“Liar.”
Why would he be late?
“Okay, I’m on
my
side. I want my apartment back. I want my bed back. I want my peace and quiet back.”
“What a way to make your mother feel loved.”
Have I mentioned how good my mom is at guilt-tripping people into doing things they don’t want to do?
“Mom, of course I love you.”
“You don’t want me to be safe.”
“Of course I want you to be safe. And happy. Which is why I brought you here.”
Where the heck is my dad?
If he didn’t show his face in one minute, I was going to leave one hell of a nasty message on his voice mail.
“You yourself said once a man cheats on you, he’ll do it again.”
I was regretting those words now. “Yes, I did. But maybe I was wrong.”
Mom gave me a look that said, “Oh, really?”
“I don’t suppose your sudden change in attitude regarding your father has anything to do with that silly idea you had for a television show?”
“He did help me with that, but there were no strings attached. He just did it as a favor.” I pulled out my cell phone and scrolled down to his name.
“You know, you should really rethink that whole thing. A prince, especially
Sluagh,
is a real prize.”
“Mom, I’m not discussing this with you.” I hit the button, sending the call.
“Maybe I should make you sit down and talk to your prince, work things out? Would serve you right for meddling in my affairs.”
She did have a point there.
One ring. Two.
“But I’m not wreaking havoc on your life,” I said.
“Says you.”
I laughed. Mom laughed too.
And then a man who looked vaguely familiar—in that I-think-he’s-famous-but-I-can’t-place-him way—strolled up to her, holding a cordless microphone. Behind him a handful of guys, maybe in their fifties, assembled into a semicircle, musical instruments at the ready. The man lifted the microphone. There was a moment of silence.
He said the first line of “The Power of Love” in a mellow voice.
Mom gasped. “It can’t be. Frankie Goes to Hollywood?”
He sang another line.
“Our song.” Mom thumbed her lower lashes.
The men behind the singer parted, and my father stepped into view and joined the man singing. The lyrics were powerful. The love in his eyes was so true and pure and beautiful—I couldn’t help crying too.
I had to give it to my dad. When it came to making an entrance, he knew how to make one that nobody would forget. Looking very dashing, extremely handsome, and confident, he sang out his heart as if every word were written by him, for him.
And at the end, when the last note played, he whispered, “‘I’ll protect you from the dark enemy. Keep the vampires away,’” and dropped on one knee.
The band guys silently retreated.
In a loud voice, my father said, “Beverly Skye, I made that promise once. A lifetime ago. I haven’t forgotten. I can’t ever forget.” He visibly swallowed. “I made a terrible, unforgivable mistake. I don’t make any excuses. And I am a fool—no worse, a complete and utter ass—to come here, asking for your forgiveness. But I can’t live another day, another minute without you.”
The surrounding area filled with muffled “aahs” and “oohs.” Clearly, the crowd was on his side.
My mother looked at me. She looked at my father, who was grinning up at her like a lovesick teenager. She looked at the crowd of onlookers. They were all smiling and nodding. “You ass.” She gave him a little whack on the shoulder. “Nothing like putting me on the spot.”
Dad blinked. The innocent act wasn’t fooling anyone. Not me. Definitely not Mom.
“Forgive him,” someone shouted.
Mom scowled over her shoulder. “Do you know what this man did?”
“What?” someone else said.
“He cheated on me. And I’m carrying his child.”
I could feel the energy in the crowd shift. My father was in trouble. I think he sensed it too. He looked around, nervously, still on bended knee.
“I’m not denying I made a mistake. I screwed up.”
Some people left.
Others grumbled among themselves.
Mom made a sweeping gesture. “You see? They’re abandoning you, now that they know the truth. Those were beautiful words, Jim. But you didn’t live up to them.”
My father caught her hand between his. “Please, Bev. I’m begging you to give me another chance. I’ll do anything you want. Absolutely anything, if you’ll come back to me.”
“Go to counseling?” Mom asked.
“Absolutely. Tomorrow, if you want.”
“Give up watching sports for a whole year?” she said; the corners of her lips curled up.
“Not a problem.”
Her expression turned serious again. “Quit your job?”
Dad lowered his head. He didn’t answer right away. I wondered how he’d talk his way out of this one.
Mom tried to pull her hand from his. “See? You won’t do ‘absolutely anything.’”
His head snapped up. “Yes, I will. I’ll quit my job.”
“Really?” Mom said, doubt clear in her voice.
“Really. I’ll quit right now, today.”
“Really?” Mom perked up.
“Please, Bev. I love you. I need you. I swear I’ll never betray you again.”
Mom looked askance at me.
I shrugged. “He sounds like he means it.”
Mom’s lips curled into the slightest hint of a smile. “Well ...”
“There’s only one small hitch,” my father said.
“What’s that?” Mom asked warily.
“We get married in three days.”
“Three days?” That hint of a smile vanished. “What’s the hurry?”
“I love you. I lost you once. And I nearly lost you a second time, thanks to my own stupidity. I can’t stand the thought of losing you forever. I want to stand in front of the world and promise to love you for the rest of my life.”
“But ... what about all of our plans? My dress. My flowers—”
“I can have it all set in time,” he said, pleading with his eyes.
“Was that ... really—”
“Holly Johnson. Frankie Goes to Hollywood,” my father finished for her.
“Where did you find him? He hasn’t performed in ages.”
He smiled. “See? If I can get Johnson to serenade you, don’t you think I can plan a wedding?”
“Oh, for crying out loud. Okay. You jerk!” Mom threw her arms around my father’s neck.
The crowd that remained cheered loudly.
I cried.
“I hope a sunset wedding will do,” my father said after giving my mother a kiss that made my cheeks flush.
“A sunset wedding will be perfect.” Mom looked at me. “Sloan, I need your help.”
 
 
The next morning, I was at the unit, bags packed with all the essentials needed for at least a week of undercover work. I had a bit of a challenge picking clothes, though, since my wardrobe was purchased to fit my current thirty-four, twenty-seven, thirty-eight figure. However, someone seemed to have anticipated my shortage of maternity wear. I discovered a box of clothes sitting on my desk when I arrived at the office.
Hough wandered out of her cave just as I was inspecting the contents. I didn’t want to appear ungrateful, but the garments were hideous. My mood was sour. Her smile was sparkly. I wasn’t in the frame of mind for sparkly.
“The chief told me about your assignment. I thought you could use those. They were my mom’s.”
Translation: too ugly and outdated for her to wear. But good enough for me.
With great effort, I produced a smile. “That’s so thoughtful. Thank you.”
“I figured you wouldn’t want to buy any maternity clothes now, since you’re not really pregnant and probably won’t be for some time. They are so expensive,” she said as she ran her hand over her nonexistent baby bump, currently clothed in a cute, flattering black-and-gray knit dress. “Who’s to say when you’ll get around to having children? The styles could change by then, right?”

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