Forbidden (19 page)

“I'm sure your friend will be relieved,” Rachel said, walking toward him with a plate of fried eggs and stacked, buttered toast, “to learn you are recovering. He thought you were going to die.”

Her statement splashed against him, and he closed the folder. He'd thought he might die too. And he wasn't exactly sure everything was all right now. But he was thankful the eggs and toast smelled good and he didn't have a hankering for raw, bloody meat. “And you didn't?”

She set the plate on the coffee table beside the laptop computer. “I was confident you were in the Lord's hands.”

Setting the folder beside him on the sofa, he leaned toward his breakfast. “What did you tell Brody about what happened?”

She didn't answer at first, just looked at him like it was an odd question. “The truth.”

Not Roc's first choice. “And what did Brody say to that?”

“He didn't say anything.”

“He didn't say anything about your telling him I'd been attacked by a vampire? A little girl vampire?”

She held a napkin out to him as if he'd just said something normal. “Maybe he thought I was making it up.”

Roc rubbed his forehead. Maybe he wasn't thinking clearly. Why would Brody put a security detail here to protect Rachel if he thought Roc was crazy or if he didn't believe her story? And yet, why would he believe? He forced himself to stand, ignoring the head rush, and walk toward the front door. “He didn't question you?”

She shook her head. “We were busy trying to get the bleeding to stop and get you comfortable.”

Of course. Right. It made sense. And yet none of it sounded right. Roc knew Brody. He was a detective for NOPD, and any detective would ask a few questions. It would have been normal for Brody to have filled out a police report. Would Rachel lie to Roc about what she'd told Brody? He dismissed the thought. She was Amish, and they clung to the truth at all costs. So what was going on here? And here was the bigger question: If Brody thought his ex-partner was dying, then why hadn't he called an ambulance?

Roc peered through the peephole on the front door. It gave a wide-angle view of the stoop. Shifting sideways, he separated the blinds and peeked through them. He had a bird's-eye view of the swimming pool and courtyard, which had many empty lounge chairs. A cop stood guard down there. The guard looked up then, and their eyes met. But the face Roc saw was his father's.

He jerked back, and the blinds clattered into place. Forcing himself to breathe, Roc thought maybe he was going crazy. He ventured another look. The cop—or his father—was gone. Maybe the vampire bite distorted reality. Or maybe he was hallucinating. Or maybe he was plain crazy.

“Roc,” Rachel said, “are you okay?”

“You sure Brody brought security here? He told you that?”

“I saw the policeman.” She came over to him and took a look through the blinds. “He must be taking a break or went around the side of the building.”

Roc went to the other bedroom door, the one he assumed was Brody's. He paused, not out of hesitation but wariness, and listened for any sounds from the other side. Nothing alerted him, but he reached for his gun—an automatic response. But it wasn't there. “What did you do with my gun?”

“Brody took it.”

That made some sense. A basic precaution. And yet…

Her answer made him sweat. He gripped the handle on the door, pressing his injured arm against his belly, and twisted the knob slowly. Nothing jumped out at him. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He was probably being paranoid or schizophrenic or some other psychological term he didn't want to know. Still, he noticed the blinds were closed, the room dark.

He couldn't remember ever entering Brody's personal bedroom. Why would he have? He excused his intrusion now because he needed his weapon…and a shirt. Without his Glock, he was vulnerable. And that didn't set well with him.

“What about my wooden stake?”

“That too.”

Emboldened by his defenselessness, he flicked on the light. A tan comforter covered the bed. The room was plain, everything in order and neat. Was that Rachel's doing?

He looked back at her. She stood at the doorway to the bedroom but did not enter. “Have you been in here?”

Her eyes widened with shock. “Of course not.”

There wasn't anything much to see in the room, just a dresser with loose coins dotting the surface, a paperback novel by Dean Koontz, and a set of keys. He moved toward two doors. One revealed a bathroom similar to the one he'd utilized earlier, with the same green soap and shampoo, along with razor and shaving lotion on the edge of the sink. A towel hung from the plastic towel bar. He opened the mirrored cabinet next to the sink and found toothbrush and paste and an outdated prescription of pills for migraines.

Next he checked the walk-in closet. Only a few clothes hung on the metal rods. A row of shelves for shoes split the closet in half, but Brody didn't keep many spare shoes, just a pair of tennis shoes on the floor and a pair of black cowboy boots. Instead, he'd filled the narrow shelves with sunglasses. There must have been fifty pairs of shades stacked neatly in the shelves. Did Brody have a fetish? He'd never known his ex-partner to spend money so lavishly, but the brands—Ray-Ban, Maui Jim, Gucci—were easily top dollar. Above the metal bar for hangers was another shelf where Brody had stored a black suitcase the size of a carry-on. Roc reached for it with his good arm. It weighed more than he'd expected and came down hard. Trying to grab it with his other hand, he grunted, and the suitcase hit the carpeted floor with a dull thud.

“Roc?” Rachel called from the doorway. “Are you okay?”

One of those instinctive feelings came over him like a million spider legs crawling along his bare skin. He bent over the bag and fumbled with the zipper, which ran around the perimeter of the bag. When he lifted the lid, he simply stared at the contents while his blood congealed in his veins.

“Roc?” Rachel called again.

“Yeah, I'm okay.” But he wasn't okay. They weren't okay.

They not only had to leave but they should have already left.

Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race,

Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,

Whose speed is but the heavy Plummet's pace.

For the first time in two years, time became important to Akiva.

He'd watched Brydon arrive at the police station. He'd then waited most of the day. At some point, Brydon would leave work and head home. And Akiva would follow. Because Brydon was his best and only prospect for finding Roc Girouard and Rachel.

He'd circled the city for two days, searching for the black Mustang, but to no avail. Either Roc or Rachel was injured. When he'd gone back to Acacia's body, he'd smelled the blood—human blood—not the blood of a young vampire. One was like walking through a peach orchard and inhaling the ripe smells of those ready to be picked. The other was like the smell after harvest when smashed peaches lay rotting in the sun.

Akiva had walked through hospitals, listening to conversations, filtering through weeping and angst, trying to locate Rachel. He'd traipsed through the airport, wharf and cruise ships, as well as bus and train stations, where he'd found another young runaway and taken enough time for a snack. Keeping his appetite sated helped clear his head of any other urgency.

But he'd ended up back at the police station. Waiting.

Brydon had not contacted him yet. Was it because he had no news? Or was it because he was protecting Girouard?

Akiva clenched his teeth and tightened his grip on his gearshift. If he didn't find Rachel in the next day or two, he would head North. She would want to go home and hide among the Amish. But there was no safe place on earth for her. He would not be denied. Not now. Not ever. Her baby would earn him his ultimate freedom from this life.

Brydon emerged from the brick building with a tall, thin man. They were speaking in low, confidential tones that Akiva couldn't overhear from this distance. But he started his Jaguar's engine and waited. From the stance of the man walking with Brydon, the way he stood with his chin slightly elevated and sniffing the air, Akiva recognized he was a blood. The man stretched out mental tentacles, probing the air to seek out anyone who might be nearby, listening or following. Akiva shuttered his feelings and thoughts to protect his plans from scrutiny.

The two vamps gave each other a nod and parted company; the one returning to the police station and Brydon walking with a leisurely pace toward his Chevy truck. Sunlight gleamed off its dark exterior, the paint reflecting Brydon's image like a mirror.
What
was
this
vamp
hiding? Was he playing some kind of a game?
His superior attitude grated against Akiva. He had to know what was happening, what this blood was thinking. Brydon was young in his new life, and Akiva stretched weblike fingers to tap into his hidden thoughts. But the new vamp dipped his sunglasses downward and looked in Akiva's direction.

He'd been spotted. This Brydon was stronger than a typical new vamp. Or at least stronger than Akiva had been.

Brydon didn't hurry or rush in an effort to outrun Akiva, he simply climbed into the driver's seat and took off at a pace easily followed. He drove along busy streets, taking random turns, and even a brief ride on the freeway, until he pulled off and turned down several side streets. The rush of anticipation surged through him. Brydon must have made contact with Roc and Rachel. He was sure of it. And Brydon was leading Akiva right to them.

He spotted the black truck circling through the parking lot of an apartment complex, and Akiva followed. But then the truck did a quick maneuver and blocked the one-way entrance. A quick glance in the rearview mirror brought the sudden realization he'd been had. Behind him walked the other vamp Brydon had been speaking to earlier at the station. He must have trailed behind. And now Akiva was caught with no escape route. But he needed none.

He shoved the gearshift into park and leapt out of the driver's seat. Anger pumped through him. Without a glance behind him toward the other vamp, Akiva walked straight for Brydon, who had already disembarked from his vehicle.

“You didn't tell me,” Akiva said in a low, menacing tone.

“Tell you what?” Brydon's shades reflected sunlight.

“That you were protecting your friend.”

“I don't owe you any favors.”

“Bloods stick together.”

“Is that how you've lived the last two years, Akiva? I've heard about you.”

With his whole body tense, ready to attack, Akiva managed to hold himself back. He wanted to kill this blood, to show this new vamp how inconsequential he was. He would have no guilt, no qualms in the least. And he would have leapt forward, if there hadn't been another vamp standing directly behind him. “Why are you risking so much for this vampire hunter? He has killed many of us. Girouard would kill you, if given half a chance.”

“If he knew, yes, he would.”

“So where are they? Where's Girouard and Rachel?”

“You can have the girl, but you will leave Roc alone. Do you understand?”

The concession irritated Akiva. He could almost taste the Cajun's blood. He'd love to do away with that vampire killer. After all, Roc Girouard had been on his tail for too long. But he had to cement his priorities. “Where is she?”

“Do I have your word?”

“Sure.”

Brydon laughed. “That don't mean much from you, Akiva, does it? And I don't think threatening to kill you myself would prevent you from hurting Roc.”

Keeping a cool façade, Akiva asked, “So what do you propose?”

“If you hurt Roc, I'll kill every member of your family.”

Akiva laughed. “You don't know anything about my family.”

“Don't I? I've been doing my research over the past couple of days. Where shall we start?” Brydon rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “With your father? Jonas Fisher?” He held up a finger as if a better idea just occurred to him. “Or maybe your momma! Sally. Now that might be fun.” But there was no humor in his tone or expression. “Or there's always your brother Levi…his new wife, Hannah…or even your little brother. What's his name? Samuel, is it? Maybe I won't kill him but make him just like his big ol' brother. Pennsylvania could use some more vamps. Whatcha think?”

A growl emanated from deep inside Akiva.

“That's what I thought. So take the girl…this Rachel. Do what you want with her. But leave Roc. Do we understand each other?”

“Fine.” Akiva spat the word out between his tense lips. “Just take me to her.”

This time, Brydon flashed his white teeth in a fierce smile. “My pleasure.”

***

“‘Hell is empty and all the devils are here.'”

Akiva grinned at himself for remembering the Shakespearean quotation, which seemed rather appropriate, considering the situation at hand.

“You think we are devils? Or them?” Brydon nodded toward the maroon apartment door.

“It probably depends on your point of view.”

“But you think we are evil?”

Akiva's smile faded as he glanced at the new vampire. Did he hear doubt or confusion in Brydon's tone? Or defensiveness? He drew a breath and stated very clearly, “I do.”

Brydon's features remained frozen, not a cringe or eyebrow lifted, not a flinch or delighted smile revealed. Like most vampires, he kept his thoughts to himself. If Brydon disagreed, then he might report it to Giovanni. But it wouldn't matter. It would be too late. “That's my apartment there. Two sixty-six.”

“And Girouard and Rachel?”

“They were there when I left this morning.”

Akiva cast his gaze over the grounds. Empty slatted chairs surrounded a glittering swimming pool in the center of the courtyard. A maze of sidewalks created a web as each led toward a different building. In front of the three-story structure, a solitary figure strode, turning at a juncture and returning as if pacing in front of the building or guarding it. The man wore dark clothing, some sort of a uniform, maybe a policeman's uniform.

“Who's that?”

“He's been there on and off.”

“Is he one of the guardians?”

Brydon shrugged. “Don't know what you mean.”

Akiva almost laughed. Something this young vamp didn't know! But instead of laughing with glee, he spoke quietly, as if the man across the courtyard might overhear. “I haven't seen them before in and around New Orleans. Doesn't mean they aren't here, though. But I've seen them only when I traveled to Pennsylvania. You will have to draw him away.”

“Why me?”

Akiva snapped his head in Brydon's direction. “So I can get in the apartment.”

“You want in there, then you lure him away.”

A low growl emanated from deep within Akiva's throat. Obviously, he was going to have to handle everything himself.