King's Gambit (8 page)

The large man’s pale green eyes looked me over, and I knew it would take a dozen showers before I ever felt clean again.

“I’m not sure ‘life’ is the right word for it.” He chuckled, a handful of groupies giggling along with him. Gesturing to the glass of blood in my hand, he asked, “Is that for your date?”

“I’m not sure ‘date’ is the right word for it,” I said, fluttering my eyelashes as I held the glass out to him. “You looked thirsty, and I’m sure you must loathe to abandon such an enraptured audience.”

“Thank you kindly,” he said, a Texan accent coloring his words. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. You’re one of the…” he paused, glancing over at the humans around us, “detectives tasked with keeping our little community safe. A Miss Maxwell, I believe?”

“Morgan, yeah. Though I’m not sure I’d use the word ‘safe’ so much as ‘civil.’”

“It seems we just can’t agree on each other’s vernacular,” Franklin said with a loud laugh, like it was the funniest thing he’d heard all night. The others followed along with a litany of forced guffaws, as if the phrase didn't make them want to curl up and die.

It’s possible I was projecting.

“You’re a cop?” asked a perky blonde with a dress so low cut it was almost illegal.

“More like a sheriff,” I said. “Sounds cooler. But please, don’t let me interrupt. You were just starting a new story.”

Franklin nodded. “Right, so I was in Tijuana and caught wind of this donkey show…”

It took three more glasses of wine before I could find any sort of humor in the giant small man’s stories. Somehow, he managed to make a tale involving a donkey, a virgin, and a monkey that could juggle knives sound boring. Eventually, I wiggled my way to the front of the group until I was standing next to him. I swallowed my pride and a mouthful of wine as I giggled and flirted my way through another half-hour of conversation that made getting shot through the throat seem fun.

Marcus owed me two Rolexes for this. Or maybe a car with heated seats. And one of his penthouses.

“I must say, red is a striking color on you,” Franklin said as the groupies drifted away.

I shook myself out of the thought of Marcus handing over the keys to a brand new duplex. Hey, my little nest was precious to me, but a ten million dollar view of the city would do wonders in helping me get over the loss.

“That’s very kind of you, Mister Franklin, but almost everyone looks good in red.”

“Nonsense! Not everyone can pull off something so bold and…slit.” His eyes roamed over my body again. Those dozen showers were going to have be with bleach. “And please, call me Robert. We’re all friends here, after all.”

“Then, as one friend to another, allow me to congratulate you on the new job.”

“Thank you kindly.” He beamed. “It’s been a long time coming, I should say. It’s nice to know our new fearless leader has a good eye for talent.”

I bit my lip. It was now or never. “If you have a moment, Robert, maybe we could speak a bit more? In private.”

“Is that so?” Robert said, his tone husky and lascivious as he leaned closer to me.

I should’ve played along. I should’ve let him think I wanted to sleep with him long enough to get him alone and then knock him out or something. Instead, the words that spilled out of my mouth were, “It’s about the bodies found near the Hudson.”

Smooth. So smooth.

His expression – and my chances of success – fell. “Oh. Don’t you worry about that, little missy. Just a few overzealous rebels riding the coattails of the rising regime.” His breath reeked with the pungent scent of blood, to the point where it made my stomach curl. “You hunters are always so worried about every little death. Take some time to relax, life ends sooner than you think. Trust me,” he added with a wink. Great, he just ruined puns for me. This was officially personal.

“Well, it’s my job to worry about those kinds of things.” I steeled my nerves, adjusting my voice to a throatier, hopefully sultry, pitch. “Still. is there somewhere we can go to be alone? I’d…like to get to know you a bit more than what I can learn from stories.”

“I see,” he said, grinning like a kid with the world’s largest cookie
. I can’t believe this is actually working.
“Follow me.”

I shot a quick glance over to Khalil, who gave me a discreet thumbs up, then to Alex, who looked like he’d managed to drink even more than I had, before deciding I hated both of them and was going to live the rest of my days with my talking cat-mother and sort-of sister/cousin. But first, I had to extract some blood from a vampire.

Robert led me upstairs and down a dark hallway into an office room that would have been nicely decorated if the designer had put more than the bare minimum required to fill a shoe closet. It was nice, I guess, if you were into the whole minimalist thing. I wasn’t. Robert leaned against the desk in the middle of the room with an expectant look on his face while I tried to think of a way to just kill him without getting in trouble.

It was thoughts like this that stopped me from seeing a psychiatrist – can’t fight supernatural baddies from a padded room or jail cell.

As it turned out, I didn’t need to think of anything. The assassins that smashed through the windows and shot Robert in the head handled it all for me.

6

The fact that no one came bursting through the door at the commotion spoke volumes about Robert’s security. If I’d known things were this lax, I would’ve snuck into his place while he was sleeping and stolen a sample. He probably wouldn’t have woken up – vampires slept like the dead. Literally. Khalil was going to get a talking to about this oversight later. Hell, he probably knew and just wanted to get me all dressed up.
Aren’t I full of it tonight?

There were three attackers. They were dressed in all black and wrapped in shawls the color of dried blood that obscured their shoulders and face, leaving only a strip open for their eyes. That small strip revealed they all had tan skin but not much else. Though why they thought three people were necessary to break in and shoot a guy – vampire or otherwise – in the head was beyond me.

My personal opinion of Robert aside, it was my job to protect the residents of this city. I threw an ice spear at the farthest attacker and roundhouse kicked the one closest to me, the feeling of impact almost convincing me to wear heels full-time. The third attacker drew a curved sword and slashed, missing me by about an inch. I flung a ball of force at them before turning to check on Robert. He was still down from the shot, but nothing short of setting him on fire or cutting his head off would permanently kill him.

A heavy pressure slammed against my skull as one of the assassins hit me from behind. I staggered forward, hitting the floor before rolling over to avoid another hit. I kicked off my shoes and backed away from my attackers, shooting bursts of lightning in the figures’ general vicinity.

The lightning knocked them back, but didn’t appear to faze them much. Not human, and their coordinated movements confirmed they were professionals. Who sent them? Who wanted Robert dead?

I flung a fireball and they scattered, one of them pitching a handful of throwing knives at me. I brought up a barrier to deflect the projectiles as I grabbed my heels and charged forward. In a rare moment of perfect aim, I jammed a heel right into one of the attacker’s eyes, drawing a high-pitched scream.

Female. And bitter, it seemed. She shoved her sword through me, ripped it out, and kicked me in the face. I hit the ground with a shout, blood spilling from my abdomen and nose. One of the attacker’s hands flashed, and I brought my barrier back up in time to deflect a fireball.

Heat rushed over my side and a bright light flashed. I shouted again, this time in anger as a giant fire flared where Robert’s body used to be, the flames crackling for a few seconds before dying out and leaving nothing but a body’s worth of ash.

By the time I’d gathered myself up, the attackers were gone. I squished my face up at the feel of my insides and skin knitting back together. Every time I had a torso wound, I always thought back to the first time I’d gotten stabbed through the stomach. It had been an accident, but I almost got my arm stuck when I – curious beaver that I am – reached into the hole while it was healing up. The look on Lady Cassandra’s face had been priceless.

Shoving my childhood segue aside, I stood up, mourned the loss of my dress, and picked up my shoes. Gross, the heel was covered in blood and vitreous humor. At least there was biological material to work with, for whatever that was worth.

“I definitely won’t be walking in these.”

Careful to avoid any moist looking stains, I knelt down next to Robert’s ashes and pulled the vial out of my cleavage. Who needs pockets when you have boobs? It was a shame I couldn’t fit more things in there.

Even though getting shot wasn’t enough to kill a vampire, they still bled when hit. I dipped my fingers in what little liquid there was and wiped it into the vial before focusing on my other concerns. Like how I was going to explain all this without incriminating myself in the murder of the king’s…what did Robert even do for Flavius? I guess it didn’t matter anymore.

“What the hell?”

I threw an ice spear out of reflex and leapt to my feet. The spear slammed through the door like it was an oversized dartboard. The door swung a few times before hitting the wall, revealing Khalil. He eyed the spike before sidestepping inside and surveying the room with a raised brow.

“Dear, I’m not sure you know what ‘inconspicuous’ means,” he said, closing the door behind him.

Normally, the ice would dissipate on its own, but I waved it away; there was no sense in having it sticking through the door for people to see.

“I didn’t do it,” I said. “A bunch of ninja assassin-type things crashed through the windows, shot him in the head, attacked me, and then set him on fire.” I stepped over to him, the wooden floor cold under my feet. “What kind of life do we have that a sentence like that sounds perfectly normal?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘perfectly’–”

“Don’t,” I groaned, thinking about my exchange with Robert. Dead Robert. Twice dead Robert. “I’m guessing Marcus didn’t send the death squad?”

“If he did, I knew nothing about it,” he said. “However, killing Franklin would go against the plan, so I’d look for outside forces.”

“Who else would want Robert dead?”

“Who wouldn’t? Business rivals, business
partners
, another vampire, a member of Parliament, the king himself…” Khalil trailed off with a shrug. “There are endless possibilities.”

“Have I mentioned I hate politics?”

“It
is
a killer,” he said with a grin.
Ah, my faith in puns is restored.
“Any ideas on what to do about this?”

“Run to Mexico?” I rolled my shoulders. “I’ll need to report this to the king, but otherwise it’s a vampire affair; his people will lead the investigation.”

Khalil knelt in front of the ash pile and shook his head. “It won’t be easy to get the rest of the blood samples with this going on. Speaking of, were the attackers human? I smell blood, and it’s not his.”

I looked down at the angry red scar on my torso. It would vanish soon enough, the pain already fading. “That’s probably mine. I stabbed one of them and she quid pro quo’d it up.”

“She? You saw their faces?”

“No, the scream was feminine.”

“Where did… Actually, don’t tell me – it’s more fun to imagine where you hid the knife.”

I sighed and waved the stained stiletto at him.

“Is that what they mean by ‘killer heels’?”

“No, no.” I waved a finger at him. “You already used ‘killer’ as a joke.”

“My lady, I assure you I am being deadly serious.”

I rolled my eyes and groaned. “That’s so awful it looped back to funny.”

“You don’t look hurt.” He came closer, thumbing the ripped ends of the dress before pulling the fabric aside. “This scar is fresh, but not enough to be–”

“Can I use your phone?” My tone made it clear we were changing the subject.

“You didn’t bring yours?” He got the hint. Smart man.

“It wouldn’t fit in my bra.”

“I noticed you didn’t have a purse, but…”

“I’d need a clutch for a fancy outfit like this. I hate clutches. Last night was bad enough.”

The unimpressed look he gave me was still attractive, but it made me feel embarrassed more than anything else.

“Suffering is the curse of the fashion savvy?” I said sheepishly.

“How are bags not fashionable?”

“Not bags, clutches. Because they have no strap and it’s a waste of a hand to hold them.”

“I still don’t–”

“Can I use your phone or not?”

He fished the device out of his pocket and handed it to me. For the first time this week, Alex actually answered his phone.
Yay.
The thought came to me in a spiteful little voice; it took more than being stabbed to get rid of my bitterness.

“Hello?”

I put the vial with Franklin’s blood back into my cleavage, ignoring Khalil’s look. “It’s Morgan. Can you meet me? Up the main staircase and down the west hallway, fifth door on the left.”

“On my way.” No questions asked. I appreciated that. He appeared a minute later and quickly closed the door behind him when he saw the state of the room. “Umm…?”