Turned (12 page)

“Any thoughts?” Office Southcott asked. “Do you know anything about Belladonna? Or who Gloria is?”

“Gloria is my sister. I haven’t seen her in years. And Belladonna?” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of it.”

She felt a twinge of unease at the lie, but didn’t let it influence her. She was used to lying to the cops. Since she didn’t know whom to trust, she wasn’t going to confide in this one. Suspicion still nagged at her. All she wanted was to get Southcott out of her house as soon as possible.

But first she had to ask all the right questions. It was the least she could do for Téa. “Are you investigating her death? Is it being ruled a homicide?”

“No. We’ve apprehended the man who hit her. Drunk driver, multiple violations. I just wanted to follow up and make sure you got her message. And her warning.” Southcott smiled tightly. “I knew Téa Montgomery. Smart lady. If she’s telling you to stay away from someone, even your sister, I’d listen to her.”

The guy’s condescending grin and know-it-all attitude set Ana’s teeth on edge. “Thank you. I will.”

It was another lie, of course.

Southcott gestured to the boxes she’d packed. “You moving?”

“Yes,” she said. “Not far. I’m buying a place closer to work,” she said.

Southcott just stared at her for a few seconds, then nodded. “Well, you know where to find me if you need me.”

She didn’t reply. Simply walked him to the door and said good-bye, then locked it behind him. Shakily, she leaned back against it and looked around at all the boxes that were packed and ready to move into storage. This sealed it—she was going to find out what Belladonna really wanted from her.

And if Téa’s death had anything to do with it.

With determination, she picked up her phone and
dialed the number on the card Ty had given her. She wasn’t surprised when he answered, his voice low and somber. “Hello,” was all he said.

Ana took a deep breath. “Téa Montgomery is dead.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“How could you not tell me that? Did you know when you came to see me yesterday?”

“Yes.” He hesitated. “I didn’t tell you because I thought you were already suspicious of me. I thought it best to let you find out when you tried to contact her. Which I knew you’d do.”

“Did you—did you have anything to do with it?”

“No.”

This was it. She had to decide whether she could trust him enough to take the next step. But she’d called him, hadn’t she? In spite of that weird dream she’d had. That proved on some level she’d already made up her mind, even after hearing about Téa’s death.

Her intuition told her that he was waiting for her to confirm that. Ana didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of a definite answer just yet.

“Listen, Ty. Right now I’m not making any promises except this. If I find out you’re playing me, if I find out you had anything to do with Téa’s death, you’ll regret it.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“So if I join … what happens next?”

“We have to get you to Belladonna without anyone tailing you.”

“Why would anyone want to?”

“Lots of reasons,” he said.

Though she was annoyed by the nonanswer, Ana figured he would fill her in on those later. He’d better or she wouldn’t come in.

“You always have to assume people want something
from you,” he continued. “And that they’re willing to do whatever it takes to get it.”

“Does that include you?” she asked, remembering what he’d said in her dream about being more devil than prince.

“It especially includes me.”

CHAPTER
TEN

After leaving Ana Martin’s house, Officer William Southcott
finished the second half of his double shift. As he did, he couldn’t keep the little hottie out of his head.

He’d delivered the message as instructed, but damn, he’d wanted to give Ana Martin a whole lot more. She was fine, with a hot little body he had no trouble imagining naked, spread out and helpless. He’d love her to fight him. He’d force her to come for him and punish her if she dared to fake it. His imagination supplied the juicy details. What a sick mind he had, he thought happily.

By the time his shift was over, Southcott was in a state of painful arousal and intent on dealing with it. Not with the woman, of course. She belonged to the boss, whether she knew it or not. It was Southcott’s second job to mete out punishment for anyone who messed with her, and that had even included the lady parole officer with the big mouth. The boss didn’t call on him often, but when he did and Southcott completed what was asked of him, he was generously paid. He wanted to keep getting generously paid.

He also wanted to stay alive.

That, more than anything, made his fantasies about Ana Martin exactly that.

But still … he’d never actually been that close to her before. Had never actually talked to her. There was
something about her, something that had made keeping his hands off her damn difficult, even though he’d recently shot a man between the eyes for failing to do just that.

With a shake of his head, Southcott unlocked his apartment door, secured his weapon, and showered. There, he took his desire for Ana Martin in hand, spilling his seed in a pathetically short amount of time. He was about to go at it again when his shower door was abruptly and violently yanked open.

“Jesus Christ,” he shouted, body jolting and eyes widening when he saw who loomed in front of him. Fear didn’t even begin to describe the sensation that shot through him. His bladder released, combining urine with the semen and water swirling down the drain, but he managed to sound fairly commanding when he said, “What—what the hell are you doing here?”

His boss was normally calm, cool, and collected, but now looked feral. Crazed. Why?

“I came for an update on your visit with Ana Martin.”

Despite his fear, Southcott forced himself to frown. To maintain a strong front even in the face of someone so much stronger. “And you couldn’t wait until I was out of the fucking shower?”

“Not when I knew what you were doing. Who you were doing it to. You’re psychotic, Southcott, which sometimes suits my purposes just fine. I don’t care about the others you’ve hurt so long as you follow my orders. But this is different. I saw your thoughts. I saw what you were doing. You were hurting her. You were defiling her.”

Southcott’s mouth went dry. “That was all in my head. I didn’t actually touch her.”

“You don’t get to have fantasies about her!”

The vampire stepped into the shower, eyes menacing. Intent clear.

Despite himself, Southcott trembled and took several useless steps back. “It wasn’t real. You can’t kill me for thoughts I can’t control.” He was shaking, his words pitched high with fear. His gun. He needed his gun …

“You’re not thinking clearly, Officer Southcott, or you’d remember your gun won’t do you any good. And to the contrary, I
can
kill you for any reason I deem fit. You jacking off to thoughts of Ana while you hurt her? That’s a good enough reason for me.”

As pain ripped through Southcott’s body, his last thoughts were of the man he’d shot between the eyes. And the knowledge that his death wasn’t going to come as quickly or as easily.

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

Belladonna Compound

Washington, D.C
.

Two days after he had confirmed Téa Montgomery’s death
to Ana, Ty was back in his suite at the Belladonna compound. He’d just finished showering and was getting dressed. As usual, his thoughts were filled with Ana—the way she’d pointed a gun at him in that alley, the way she’d felt beneath him as he’d kissed her, the look in her eyes when he’d caressed her scar, and most of all—yes, most of all—the way she’d moaned his name during that crazy-ass masturbation session in front of his surveillance equipment. He was so lost in his thoughts, in fact, that when someone knocked on his door, he jerked.

“Yeah?”

“It’s Peter.”

Peter Lancaster was Ty’s friend and another special agent-involuntarily-turned-vampire.

But he had actually known about vampires before he’d been turned and, as such, had known whom to contact when they’d escaped—Carly.

As fucked up as the whole situation was, at least Ty knew he was in good company.

“Come on in.”

As Peter entered the room, Ty hoped his expression—and
his body—didn’t betray who and what he’d just been thinking about.

“So,” Peter asked. “Have you heard from your gang girl again?”

“Ex–gang girl,” Ty responded.

“Right. Like she can ever really escape that part of her life.”

Ty’s mouth twisted. “You’re right. She has as much chance of doing that as you and I have of escaping what we are now.”

Peter snorted. “Jesus, Ty. We might be vampires of one sort or another, but so far,
we’re alive
. We still have our minds. Our memories. We’re still the same men we’ve always been. When are you going to get over your shit and remember that?”

Never, Ty thought, but he didn’t say it. Still, Peter’s words, his obvious ability to adjust to a situation that Ty couldn’t, made his control slip. Other memories flooded him. Ones he usually managed to lock down tight. Memories of Naomi. “Maybe when I stop wanting to drink other people’s blood,” Ty shot back. “Or stop thinking about Ben, the guy who helped us escape but didn’t make it out himself, or my sister,
the girl you were dating
. She’s dead. Do you remember that?” He usually kept his grief at bay by focusing on his mission and his own fucked-up situation, but sometimes it threatened to overpower him, especially when guilt was added to the mix.

To be fair, however, Ty had always felt guilt where Naomi was concerned, even when she was alive.

Peter flinched. Turned away. Slammed his palm against the door hard enough that it dented inward and cracked the doorjamb. For several seconds, he stared at the floor. When Ty said nothing, Peter finally turned back toward him. “Ben was one of us. He was a good man who knew the score, and the score was if we hadn’t
run when he told us to, we wouldn’t be here right now. As for Naomi … I miss her, too, you bastard. But I knew her a lot less time than you did, and even I could tell the chances of her living to a ripe old age were nil. She didn’t deserve what happened to her, but …”

Peter didn’t finish the sentence, but Ty knew where it was going. Despite their life of privilege, Naomi had always been troubled and she’d loved to seek out even more trouble.

Ty said nothing, but Peter wouldn’t let the matter drop. “She was addicted to heroin and sex, Ty. She was always attracted to the wrong type. Dangerous people. I don’t know how, but it was obvious she knew the vampires who attacked us, and they knew her. So yeah, we went out a few times, but she didn’t love me and I didn’t love her, not that way. I’m sorry.”

“Do you—do you blame her for what happened to us?” Ty choked out. “Do you blame me?”

“No and no. But you? I’m betting you’re blaming a lot of people. Me and Carly for working with the Turning Program. For keeping the existence of those bastards a secret. But also yourself. Am I right?”

He wanted to say no, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Part of him did blame Carly and Peter and every other person who’d had a hand in the FBI Turning Program. They’d made the Rogues think they were untouchable. The least they could have done was warn humans, especially their own fucking agents, about the danger vampires presented.

But Ty also blamed himself for what had happened.

The last time he’d seen Naomi’s face, she’d been scared, frightened of the street thugs who’d called her name and blocked their way on the street. She’d urged Ty to walk away, but Ty hadn’t listened. He’d threatened the guys. He’d even shoved a few of them. He’d been so damn pissed at learning Naomi was consorting
with what appeared to be thugs again, and so damn cocky because he was a badass FBI agent, and he was with Peter and Ben, two other badass FBI agents.

Just plain stupid of him.

Ty had been stunned when things went crazy, firing his gun only to discover that the bullets were no help.

All he’d felt after that was pain, and that pain had only magnified tenfold when he’d woken, strapped to a table and at the mercy of his captors. The true shock, however, had been discovering what those men thought he was—a vampire. One they’d created to serve them.

For nearly a full day, he’d told himself that help was coming. That the FBI would find him. That he’d escape. Those feelings had intensified when he’d realized Peter and Ben were also captives. At the time he’d figured his sister had been taken, too. She’d be terrified, he’d thought, but that had simply made him more determined to save them all.

Then his own body had turned against him, and he’d witnessed his crazed behavior in those around him. How nothing mattered but getting more blood. More sex. He’d been certain he’d kill to get whatever he needed, thinking he might even slaughter Peter or Ben or God forbid Naomi, if they asked him to, if only they’d give him another taste of blood or another female to fuck.