Microsoft Word - The Mammoth Book of Vampire Romance.doc (32 page)

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I shrugged and nodded. It made her roll her eyes and sigh, but she knew it was the best she was going to get. She left me to be swallowed by the thick haze of fragrant anise and tobacco.  The bar was a smoky island refuge in a city of  clean air, a throwback enclave township that wouldn’t bow to pressure.

My soda was flat and watery by the time I heard last call being announced. The loud, old-fashioned bulb horn the bartender used cut through the cacophony of televisions, music and conversation and pulled me out of my musing. It was no good. I just couldn’t add up the pieces in my head. At least I was off shift tomorrow, so I could sleep in.

The scattering of coins I left on the table wasn’t much of a tip, but she hadn’t been much of a  waitress. Then it was out into the sultry night air. By the time I’d walked three blocks, silence had settled around me. Only the thumping of timed sprinklers and an occasional dog bark interrupted the soft padding of my sneakers on the concrete. The quiet, tidy neighbourhood of retirees was the reason I moved here. Like the bar, it was a haven  –  a place to escape the madness of sirens and screaming.

I began to jangle my keys lightly as my house came into view. Like the others, it was perfect  –  fresh white paint, every grass blade an identical length, hedges shaped just so, windows .  . .
 
broken
?

I stopped as my brain zeroed in on the black hole where a pane used to be. My gaze flicked to the shining shards scattered over the ground. Then a shadow moved across the window and adrenaline raced through me, bringing the hyper-clarity that years of training have instilled. I started to move forwards, my legs tensed ready. He’d gone too far this time. The stalker had taken that last step. But I remembered Linda’s  words just before my foot pushed off and I reached into my pocket for my phone.

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Three buttons plus the send command later and I heard ringing in my ear. “Nine one one. Please state the nature of your emergency.” The voice was sleepy but polite.

I stared  at the window then scanned the surrounding area, searching for movement  –  a partner in crime, a running vehicle.  But not even the breeze rustled the leaves. My voice came out equally soft. No reason to tip him off. “This is Officer Sylvia  Beck with Precinct 4, badge 51476. I’ve got a 10-31, burglary in progress on my personal residence, 2942 Fox Court. I need a car here pronto. If they come in silence, we might catch him in the act.” Frankly, I was a little surprised that there wasn’t a car here already. I  have a security system that should have tripped with the sound of breaking glass.

I heard the clicking of keys over the line as she verified my badge, and possibly the flag on my address from my reports.  The operator came back sounding alert. “Address 2942 Fox  Court. We’ve got it. We’ll have a car there right away, Officer  Beck. Can you give us any more information about the intruder?  Race, build? Is he armed?”

I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see. “I’ve just arrived and have a broken window and  movement inside. I’ll know more once I’m inside. I’ll try to keep the line open.” I took a step towards the house, my  muscles twitching, eager to start the chase.

Another pause and then a reply. “Negative, Officer.  Dispatch requests that you maintain surveillance and wait for back-up. A car’s on the way.”

My shoulders slumped at the same time a snarl erupted from my lips. Yes, It made sense. I wasn’t armed, didn’t have a clue who might be in there, or how many. But I didn’t like it.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, the decision was made for me when the side door opened and a shadowy figure emerged. He

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looked both ways and spotted me, standing under the streetlight  like a yellow-shirted beacon. He took off like a shot and my feet  started moving. “The suspect’s on the run. I’m in  pursuit,  heading north towards Mink Terrace. Have the car try to cut us  off.” I didn’t wait for a reply . . . didn’t want to hear that I  should stay put. The six-foot wooden fence at the back of my  property was no deterrent for him and that’s when I noticed the  similarity to the shadow I’d seen the previous week. He swung  over the slats easily and kept going. I did too, but only because I  practice . . . a lot. Drives the neighbours nuts.

The suspect didn’t just bolt like a normal criminal. There was cadence to his stride, measured, precise. He wasn’t one to make a quick dash and dive for cover. He expected to win in the long haul, by tiring out his pursuer. But I wasn’t easily tired, so I settled in for a long chase. Because he was
 
not
 
getting away.

Flashing lights appeared to my left, coming down Mink.  Apparently, the 911 operator had relayed my message. The suspect spotted them and veered right. He sailed over a chest-high hedge, leg bent like an Olympic hurdler, probably hoping it

would slow me down. It did, damn it. Free jumping’s not my  best thing unless I can get a hand on something to push off. It  forced me to stop and turn to go around the end. I rounded the  corner in a skid, sneakers tearing away chunks of wet turf before  I could get my footing. I heard a car door slam when I reached  the next fence, and a voice. “Got your back, Beck.”

There wasn’t time to nod a reply, for the shadow was heading towards the thick cover of Perkins Park. I pressed my muscles for even more speed and was catching up. Yet, oddly, the man wasn’t panicking. I was close enough now to see it was definitely a male, about six foot two and well muscled, with shoulder-length dark hair that was coming loose from a tie.  Long sleeves and gloves prevented me from  seeing skin colour, and the glimpses I got above the raised collar of the leather jacket seemed too pale to be natural. Maybe make-up.

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He slowed slightly as we reached the stream as though unsure whether to cross. It seemed he knew the area well, because the rocks at the bottom of the shallow creek are moss-

covered and slippery. Apparently it wasn’t a risk he was willing  to take because he veered again and headed towards the bike  path. But that little bit of indecision on his part was all I needed.  I gritted my teeth and pressed harder, closed that last gap and  threw myself on him.

We rolled on the ground and I wound up on top, him face

down.

“Freeze, asshole! Police!”

He started to pull away and was amazingly strong. But by then, I’d pulled the cuffs  I’d been keeping with me from the case on my belt and had wrested one wrist enough to snap it around. It took brute force and a lot of leg strength to fight his other arm behind him, but when I finally managed it he went suddenly still, like a switch had been shut off.

I began to listen for my back-up, but no sound reached my ears above my own harsh breathing and pounding heart. I got up on my knees and started to back away, slowly, watching for any signs he was going to make a break for it.

“Do not move.  You’re under arrest for breaking and

entering, plus flight. Don’t add resisting arrest to the charges.”

The reply was quiet from underneath the mass of thick dark hair, but a note of amusement made my blood run cold.  “Whatever you say, Officer.”

It wasn’t the humour itself that widened my eyes and started

my hands trembling, but that I recognized the voice.

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A touch of breeze ruffles that silken hair and the pale features stood out against the ground in sharp relief. I recognized them too.

It wasn’t tough or brave or even logical that I let out a

shriek and back-pedalled  away from the man until I was sitting  on my butt in the mud. He rolled over and sat up, barely  hampered by the cuffs. Familiar green eyes peered through the  hair and that same little smile which used to make me punch his  arm, now made me slap at the air in front of me.

“Hello, Sylvia.”

“You’re dead!” I screamed the word, my finger pointed  accusingly at my former partner, Tim Meyer. It was loud  enough to attract the attention of the officers who were  following me. I heard a shout and the comforting sound of  leather and metal rattling quickly moving hips.

His lips thinned with a smile that didn’t show teeth. “Good gorl for requesting back-up. But we’ll need to finish this discussion another time. I’ll come by tomorrow night and we’ll talk.”

I saw Arellano’s dark-blue uniform coming through the trees in my peripheral vision and shifted my attention for just a split second. When I turned back towards the man who looked like Tim, sparkling  smoke wafted up from where he’d been sitting. My ears caught the jungle of metal as the cuffs, still locked in position, clattered to the ground.

It was impossible to tell whether Arellano and Jenkins believed me when I said the suspect had gotten away. Oh, I gave a description all right, but was too shaken to reveal what I’d

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really
 
seen and heard. That was just asking for a visit to the  department shrink. We’d all been at Tim’s funeral. I’d been the  one to find his . . .
 
body
 
in that dark, silent alley, his throat  slashed by some psycho we’d never found. I’d comforted his  mother and kid sister, held them while they wept . . . while we
 
all
 
wept. To this day they consider me part of their family and  invite me to holiday dinners. Tim’s ashes are in an urn  sitting on  their mantelpiece where his mother can still talk to him. It  absolutely could not have been Tim.

Except something inside of me said it was.

I got to bed after dawn. Reports, glaziers and frantic calls from neighbours and family guaranteed that. But I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t close my eyes without seeing his face again.  Even a sleeping pill couldn’t stave off the dreams. Tossing and turning might have been better because the drug made it impossible to escape the images of the past. They were  already bad, but soon twisted  –  became tainted, nightmarish.
 
Hello,  Sylvia
. The words came out of Tim’s lifeless mouth in the alley while I tried to revive him, his ruined neck pouring blood across the asphalt. He sat up in the coffin at the service, eyes  bright, but nobody else noticed. His voice whispered out of the urn on the mantelpiece, mocking me as I sat down to dinner with his family.

I woke after noon to a sharp crack of lightening hitting nearby, even more tired than when I went to bed. A hard storm had rolled in while I’d dozed fitfully. The wind, thunder rumbling and sudden flashes through the window didn’t help my nerves any. Phone calls to friends and family naturally went unanswered because it was a work day. No television or  Internet, either. The cable must have gotten damaged in the storm. Even my car wouldn’t start. I ended up getting so

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frustrated that the only thing I could think to do was grab a

sandwich and then crank up the stereo and clean the house.

But Tim’s voice wouldn’t be silenced. I could hear it echo

in my brain even over the vacuum and driving rock bass. Still,  I’d almost gotten to where I could ignore it by nightfall. So I  shouldn’t have jumped hard enough to smack my skull on the  cabinet under the sink when I heard it again  behind me. “You  cleaned the house. I’m flattered.”

As much as I thought I’d prepared myself, there was no way to really anticipate my reaction when I turned around and saw him sitting in one of the kitchen chairs. He wasn’t as pale as the night before. With his hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and wearing a black shirt, he looked just like I remembered him.

Hug him, hit him, shoot him? A thousand emotions flew through my mind more than once. I tried to make myself believe this was just an  impostor,  someone playing on my memories for  . . . well, I didn’t know exactly why. But who else would know that I only clean when company’s coming? It wasn’t something  I advertised.

But I believe in being safe rather than sorry, so I pulled the  .38 snub-nose Taurus I was hiding in my front pocket and pointed it square at his chest. “How did you get in?” I’d locked all the doors and windows and had even put on the security system perimeter alarm and door braces.

He shrugged fluidly, seemingly not at all concerned  about

staring down my barrel. “Same way I got in last time.”

Dammit! I backed away from him a few paces, keeping the gun steady in a teacup grip until I could flick a glance at the living room window through the doorway. It was whole, untouched. “Wrong answer.”

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He remained calm, leaned back slightly in the chair and braced one heel against the table leg, just like always. “I didn’t use the window last time. I was
 
following
 
the guy who broke in.” He sighed and draped an arm over the rails of the ladder-back chair. “Missed these chairs. They’re comfy. You might as well put the gun down, Sylvia. We both know you’re not going to use it . . . and even if you did, bullets can’t hurt me.”

I might have chuckled, but my heart was pounding like a trip hammer at the  certainty in his voice. “I might not
 
kill
 
you, but a round in a shoulder or leg will certainly hurt you.”

He . . .
 
disappeared
. Poof. Just like last night  –  into a swirl of sparkling smoke. It hovered, not dissipating while I tried to make sound come from my throat. But all I wound up doing was waving my gun around, searching for something solid to shoot at while backing into a corner so I had two walls behind me.