Embrace the Darkness (Darkness Series) (4 page)

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.”

C
hapter 3

“What the hell just happened in there?” Amber asked Reid once they were back in the car.

He glanced at her from behind his sunglasses before returning his attention to the road. “We dragged information from Delaroche that Daniels and Tanner couldn’t. We have the pilot’s statement, credit card receipts, and a picture of Delaroche from his employment file. If there’s a discrepancy in the flight plan or the night clerk at Morgan Suites can’t identify him from his photograph, we’ll drag his ass in for more extensive questioning. That’s what happened in there.”

“You didn’t find the exchange with Maxwell odd? I mean, one minute he was lounging against that conference table and the next he was about to jack you up by your lapels. And I
never
saw him move.”

Just like that time in Germany…

Anxiety quickened her pulse. She took a calming breath and wiped her sweat-slicked palms on her thighs.

“Maybe you should get your eyes checked,” Reid said, keeping his on the road. “Of course, I saw him move. And why wouldn’t he be pissed? I practically accused his wife of cheating. And she’s not involved. I know it and he knows it. It was just an interview technique to get what we wanted from Delaroche.”

Reid wasn’t an easy man to manipulate. Yet Maxwell had only suggested Reid not question his wife and Reid obeyed. And he didn’t seem to remember.

Maybe I’m just being paranoid.

It had to be those damn crime scene photos. All that blood under Tina Gallagher’s body. The weird way Richard Baxter had died—the awful, gaping wound with so little blood. Was it any wonder she’d dreamt of vampires last night?

She shivered. Germany was the past. So was Iraq. She needed to get a grip and get over it already.

Or ask the doctor to up her meds.

She took another deep breath and let it out slowly. “Do you still think Delaroche is involved?”

“He definitely knows something about Travers.”

Delaroche
was
hiding something. That deep blue gaze gave away more than he realized.

She pulled her notebook from her purse and flipped through the pages. “So, maybe we need to take a closer look at Travers.”

Reid slid another sideways glance in her direction. “What do we have on him?”

“Not much,” she said, scanning her notes. “He’s the son of Lifeblood’s attorney Brit Travers from a previous marriage. His mother, Shannon Travers, is in the Henrico County jail awaiting trial on drug charges.”

Glancing up from her notes, she added. “Maybe we should pay her a visit on our way back from Alexandria tomorrow. If Axle murdered his co-workers or let the killers in and witnessed the murders, he could have gone into hiding. Maybe his mother knows where.”

Reid swung his gaze from the road. His eyes shone with excitement. “What if Axle is into drugs too?”

Amber’s pulse quickened. “Then Daniels and Tanner got it all wrong.”

“Damn right.” Reid turned his attention back to the road. His fingers curled around the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. “These murders aren’t about an affair. They’re drug-related.”

And Delaroche had nothing to do with drugs. A man with his medical condition wouldn’t take such a risk. And it wasn’t as if he needed money. He earned a sizeable and legitimate income from Lifeblood Labs.

“You think Axle was dealing?” she asked.

“What better way to get equipment for a meth lab than to hook back up with Daddy? Axle knew his father could get him a job. And who’d suspect a lawyer’s kid-turned-security guard of stealing?”

Her previous excitement waned. The evidence didn’t add up. They had enough pieces to build a case for Reid’s drug theory but when they started putting those pieces together, she’d bet her pension some of them wouldn’t fit. They were looking at two different puzzles.

“Nothing was reported missing. And Axle Travers has no prior history of violence. He wouldn’t commit two murders and then walk away without taking the equipment he needed.”

“He didn’t commit the murders,” Reid said. “He witnessed them. If his mama’s suppliers knew he was going into business for himself, they’d try to stop him. Maybe they went to Lifeblood that night, intending to scare the shit out of him. Axle probably let them in so they could talk. Then Tina Gallagher showed up and they killed her. Now, Axle’s running scared. Baxter’s death was probably a warning of what would happen if he snitched or went into business for himself. The way he died
was
pretty gruesome.”