DANCING IN THE DARK
…Baby leaned over and licked his exposed neck with a single swipe of her tongue. He shivered and s...
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DANCING IN THE DARK
…Baby leaned over and licked his exposed neck with a single swipe of her tongue. He shivered and she drew back with a chuckle. He was astonished he felt so deeply disappointed at her withdrawal. “I think we might get along really well after all,” she said and brought her lips back to his throat. This time he realized her tongue was slightly rough, like finegrained sandpaper against the sensitive skin of his neck. His body responded to that abrasive touch, heat flowing from her cool lips to settle in the pit of his stomach before spreading out in an electric tingle that set every nerve ending alight. The pain in his head and the disorientation it caused were all forgotten as he tangled his fingers in that absurd red hair and pulled her head up. He brought his lips to hers. He had to know what that rough tongue felt like against his own smoother one. He kissed her hungrily, ridiculously pleased when she opened her lips for him, letting him taste her and explore her mouth. He moaned from the intensity of it and she broke away. He looked at her with evident disappointment and need. She laughed softly again and drew his hand back to her face. She rubbed against his palm, reminding him of a cat again, before she drew his wrist to her lips. She pushed back his shirt cuff before licking the inside of his wrist, searching until he could feel his pulse against her tongue. She looked into his eyes, her own ablaze with demon fire and desire, and bit down hard…
PRAISE FOR DANCING IN THE DARK
“T. D. McKinney creates a powerful and compelling debut novel, Dancing In The Dark. This marvelous dark romantic fantasy is filled with vibrant characters who resonate with the reader—a criminal profiler, his vampire mistress, and a vicious serial killer—along with an eccentric, colorful supporting cast. The author weaves a rich tapestry reflecting the faded elegance of New Orleans in all its decadent glory. T. D. McKinney presents the sinister twists and turns of a serial killer’s mind with accuracy and flare. This is an author who really did research. It shows in the wonderful details of criminal profiling. Dancing In The Dark has a future as a best seller, and T. D. McKinney is an author to watch.” —John Douglas New York Times best-selling author of Mindhunter, Journey Into Darkness, Man Down, and many others “With a protagonist that might have been lifted straight from the life of legendary profiler John Douglas, Dancing In The Dark delves deep into the mind of Special Agent Jack Niemzcyk as he discovers that there is more than just criminals hunting humanity in the night. Frustrated by a case that seems to be going nowhere and leadership that seems determined to thwart him at every turn, Jack starts his own private investigation aided by New Orleans Homicide Detective Remy Lambert and Baby, the Queen of New Orleans. What begins as business rapidly becomes personal. Baby and Jack’s spiral into love
and lust is a delicious treat both for the jaded FBI profiler and the reader. Dancing In The Dark has so many twists and turns that by the end of the book, you’re panting for more. Hopefully, it won’t be long before The Shield and the Darkness, Book Two appears to satisfy the craving for more of Jack and Baby.” —MeriBeth McCombs Professional Reviewer
ALSO BY T. D. M CKINNEY (WITH AIMÉE M ASION)
My Secret Yankee
DANCING IN THE DARK BY T. D. MCKINNEY
AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC http://www.amberquill.com
DANCING IN THE DARK AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.amberquill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2004 by T. D. McKinney ISBN 1-59279-290-1 Cover Art © 2004 Trace Edward Zaber
Layout and Formatting provided by: ElementalAlchemy.com
PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
The author would like to thank: John Douglas, Vicki Pierce, Patrick Townsend, Mihan McKenna, Meribeth McCombs, Esme Stackhouse, Jan McArdle and her sisters, Aimee Masion, Erica Reynolds, Jack and Cherryll Osborne, Trudy Miller, Deborah Savage, Chet Niemczyk, Lisa Watson, Candace Whelan, and Wanda Horton. Dedicated to the Pride and the Krewe for their unconditional support, to the memory of Kevin Poston, and to Dr. John E. Douglas for proving to a cynic that heroes still exist.
DANCING IN THE DARK
PROLOGUE MORTALITY
New Orleans, Louisiana Wednesday, 2:37 a.m. June 25, 2002 Blood, bright and arterial, dripped into the bag, filling it quickly. The man ran a reverent finger over the plastic surface, feeling the warmth of it. He looked at the other bags, lovingly stacked just so in the cooler at his feet, and considered the woman lying bound on the table. She was unconscious and had been so since long before he began the procedure. She had to be calm while the blood was drawn out. Adrenaline was bad for the blood. A carefully gauged blow to the back of her head had assured she wouldn’t contaminate the blood with any unwanted chemicals of terror or agitation. He’d made that mistake with his first kills. They had 1
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struggled and fought, sullying the blood. He’d learned quickly, though. Since then woman after woman had fallen without resistance beneath his blackjack. He was an expert at delivering the right amount of force to render women insensible without killing them. He could also snap their necks carefully, but that was riskier. They were more likely to die before he could draw their precious blood. Their blood… He took a long, deep breath at the thought of all that wonderful elixir just waiting for him to extract it. He turned his attention back to the task at hand. The bag filled, he freed it carefully from the IV and placed it with the others. The girl was almost drained, he could tell. He had vast experience with this sort of thing now and could judge to a nicety just when they were ready to expire. He opened the IV again, letting the rich liquid flow into a beautifully cut crystal tumbler. He kept it just for these occasions. He watched with anticipation as the last of her life bled away into his glass. Those last few ounces were always the most perfect, most potent ones. Those had to be savored directly from the vein. It would be sacrilege to place those special dying drops in cold storage. As her heart ceased beating, the flow into his glass ebbed and stopped. He raised the glass to eye level and watched the play of candlelight on the cut facets of its surface. “More beautiful than any ruby,” he murmured. Slowly, delighting in each sip, he drank the warm fluid. He could taste strength and vigor in every mouthful. He had no doubt this would keep him young forever. As long as these useless women gave him their blood and their lives, he’d live forever.
2
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CHAPTER1 THE B IG E ASY
New Orleans, Louisiana Monday, 2:39 p.m. January 20, 2003 Special Agent Jack Niemczyk looked at his designated liaison for the City of New Orleans Police Department as the other man strode through the tourists and vendors crowding the narrow street. The sun shone too brightly, making it difficult to look at the wares on display. The dazzle from cheap beads and the relentless drone of hucksters deadened his senses and brought a nagging pain to the back of his eyes. “You want to explain where we’re going again? I don’t think I really understood you the first time.” “It’s the accent,” Captain Remy Lambert said jokingly. “Nobody who’s not from South Louisiana can understand a word I say.” 3
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“Well, I must have been from here in another life because I understand most of it.” While Lambert had a slight Cajun French accent, his English was completely intelligible. It slurred his speech in a pleasant way, but the Chicago native had no trouble understanding his Louisiana counterpart. Over three months of working off and on with Remy had given Jack a good idea of when the other lawman was jerking him around. And Remy was trying his damnedest to jerk the FBI agent around. “Damn it, Lambert, slow down.” Jack caught Remy’s arm. “You’re not getting rid of me.” Remy sighed. “Why don’t you go get some coffee?” He gestured across the street to the Café du Monde. “Have a beignet. I just need to do a couple of things and then I’ll be right back.” Jack shook his head in disbelief. Subtlety was as foreign to Remy as gyro sandwiches and bagels with lox. “Yeah. You’ll be back, some time tomorrow or the next day. You’re not sneaking off and you’re not dumping me.” Jack wanted an explanation for this frenzied trip through the Vieux Carré. Shading his eyes against the glitter of the afternoon sun, he tried again. “So tell me… why are we in the French Quarter when we should be back at the office? The task force has a meeting in thirty minutes.” “Which we ain’t gonna be at, fils,” Remy said. Jack was sure Remy had purposefully called Jack “son” in French and deepened his accent just to be annoying. “Your task force has been on this for three months now and we aren’t getting anywhere, Agent Niemczyk. It’s time we got some real help on this.” Remy paused to shout across the plaza at a vendor. “Hey, Jonna! How’s your mama and them?” The woman waved back and shouted something unintelligible to Jack. Remy laughed. “Yeah, that boy can’t stay out of trouble no matter what he does.” He dodged a cart loaded with t-shirts and souvenirs, clusters of many-colored beads and trinkets hanging from its metal framework, 4
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swaying and glinting in the bright sun. He whistled and waved at another vendor before turning his attention back to Jack. “Look, we’ve got too many dead bodies already. I want the killing to stop and this may be our only chance to do that.” He turned onto Royal Street and headed away from the early Mardi Gras noise surrounding Jackson Square. With the Carnival season preparing to enter its busiest time, the Quarter was already becoming crowded. Remy shook his head. “I don’t really want to think of what this place is going to be like in a few weeks when the parades start.” Mardi Gras Day was growing ever closer. At Jack’s quizzical look he explained. “I love Carnival, but I’m not too happy with the hassles that go along with it.” He scanned the narrow street. “With a murderer to catch, the last thing you and I need is a few hundred thousand extra people in town.” Remy pushed a lock of dark brown hair off his forehead and squinted up at the late winter sun. Jack knew what he was thinking; Jack was thinking the same thing. Remy was wondering what would happen when the sun set. The moon would be full tonight and both men knew what that meant. It had been over three weeks since the body of the latest murder victim had been found and Jack knew they were due for another death any time now. Their killer always struck around a full moon. So each day Jack wondered if the coming night would bring the discovery of another body. He had come to hate sundown. Remy glanced at the FBI agent before offering words that were more a warning than an explanation about why they were in the Vieux Carré. “Now, I don’t expect we’ll get to see the Man. You don’t just show up on his doorstep and get invited in. But maybe, if we’re lucky, we can get to see one of his lieutenants.” He walked in relative silence for a couple of blocks, refusing to answer any of Jack’s questions, but occasionally exchanging greetings with people on the street. Jack couldn’t decide if he’d prefer strangling Remy or just shaking the other man until his teeth rattled. 5
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Lambert had an amazing ability to annoy Jack. The federal agent was quite certain that not a day passed without him experiencing at least one wish to kill the Cajun. He didn’t think he’d ever gotten a straight answer on any of Remy’s wild ideas. He wondered yet again what evil entity had seen fit to team him up with the biggest loose canon in New Orleans. They stopped in front of one of the older houses on Royal. Jack was impressed. The balcony above and the narrow supporting pillars below were fine examples of the wrought iron work for which New Orleans was famous. Forever frozen in metal, roses climbed and twined in ornate splendor. The windows were shuttered, the old cypress boards concealing the interior from view. Its brickwork was painted a sedate oyster-beige in defiance of the grime that coated everything in the city. A recent coat of midnight blue paint glinted on the trim and the iron roses. Well-maintained and tidy with baskets of bountiful flowers spilling from its gallery despite the January chill, it stood out from its somewhat shabby neighbors. A small bronze plaque beside the door read “La Maison du Rose—1823.” Jack frowned for a second and translated, “Rose House.” Who could Lambert possibly know that would live in this glory of a historic home? “Now, you let me do the talking,” Remy ordered as he rapped on the dark blue door then tucked his fingers inside his jacket. Pansy-filled planters to the contrary, it was chilly in the heavy shade. Jack frowned and indulged in a brief fantasy of dumping the contents of a planter over the Cajun’s head. The door was opened almost immediately by a young black woman. “What you want?” she demanded. “What you think you’re doing coming around here knocking on the door at this time of the day?” She acted as though it were the wee hours of the morning rather than two in the afternoon. Remy gave her an indulgent grin. “Aw now. Don’t be that way, 6
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cher.” She harrumphed but thawed a bit, her face softening and a glow lighting her dark eyes. Jack was mildly surprised she hadn’t asked for Remy’s ID, but her next words revealed that she knew and liked the policeman. “I’m supposed to be happy you’re keeping me up, Remy?” She leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms. “I know it’s a bad time of the day for y’all,” Remy apologized. “But I’d like to set up an appointment with the Master if he’d be so kind?” Jack looked at the Cajun as though he’d lost his mind. The man was just unbelievable. The girl snorted, though there was now a smile curving her chocolate rose lips. “You wait right here. Don’t move. I’ll be back.” She shut the door firmly. “The master? You’re lucky she didn’t slam the door in your face.” Jack ran a hand through his sun-streaked brown hair; it was probably time to get it cut again. “Haven’t you ever heard the term racial harassment?” It was Remy’s turn to look confused, but before he could say anything, the door opened again. “Jean’s busy and there ain’t no way in hell I’m interrupting them.” The young woman sighed. “You got a card or something you can leave? Maybe Jean can call you later.” She pronounced the man’s name in the French fashion. Remy grabbed her cool hand and kissed it. Jack wanted to roll his eyes. Remy’s too-effusive nature was making Jack nauseous. “You are one sweet, sweet thing!” Remy gushed. Jack was pleased to see that she didn’t seem too impressed, but then she favored Remy with another half-smile. Maybe she was as susceptible to Lambert’s charm as all other women seemed to be after all. That nauseous feeling was growing. The policeman quickly pulled a business card from his pocket and jotted the briefest of notes on the back. Jack couldn’t tell what the note said. 7
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“Thank you, petite!” Remy said as he handed it to her. “You sleep well, now,” he admonished just before she shut the door again. He clapped Jack on the back. “Well now, that went better than I thought it would,” he said with a blinding smile and fake camaraderie. Jack was now fairly certain Remy was a complete lunatic. They headed back the way they had come, but had only gone a few steps when a voice called from above them. “Captain Lambert?” The Cajun stepped out into the street, barely avoiding a passing car, its driver honking at him. He stood in the middle of the street so he could look up at the balcony. “Yes, ma’am,” he called up. Jack shook his head. The man really was crazy. Jack checked that traffic was light and stepped out just far enough so he could see who had called out. Leaning carefully over the blue wrought iron of the balcony was a woman clad in a peacock kimono, iridescent and shimmering in the shade. She was easily only a few years younger than Jack’s own forty-two years. Far too old to be on a public balcony in her underwear and robe in Jack’s opinion. Even though she remained in the deep shadows of the balcony, he could tell her dark red hair was tousled and mussed and she exuded an air of decadence that seemed so appropriate for this city. “You got problems, detective?” she drawled in an accent more belle than beau. Remy spread his arms wide in a gesture of helplessness. “Yes, ma’am, Miss Baby, I surely do.” He smiled up. The corners of his mouth tilted up impishly and dimples creased both cheeks. Jack had heard that most women found Remy’s boyish charm very attractive. He couldn’t see it himself. Mostly, he found it annoying. The woman nodded and grinned at his dramatics. “Do you know Amato’s over in Fat City, Captain Lambert?” She pronounced Remy’s name correctly, in the French fashion. Jack liked to say it the English way just to get a dig in at the Cajun 8
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sometimes. He grinned to himself and resolved to say it wrong for the rest of the day. Jack was willing to get pay back where he could and wasn’t above a touch of petty behavior. His plan for making Remy sorry he’d dragged Jack through the French Quarter with no explanation firmly in place, Jack turned his attention back to the woman on the balcony. At Remy’s polite affirmative that he knew the place, she continued, “You come by there tonight after ten. He’ll see you. Tell them at the door that I said let you in.” Remy threw her an exaggerated kiss. “Thank you, ma’am. You are the finest woman in the city, Miss Baby.” She shook her head at his fulsome compliment and was about to retort when a pale hand settled on her shoulder and a rich voice purred, “Come back to bed, rose.” Her laugh flowed down onto the street as she disappeared from sight. Remy practically danced back to the sidewalk. “Well, now. It’s just good to be alive some days, Agent Niemczyk.” Jack finally gave into temptation and rolled his eyes as Remy threw his arm around Jack’s shoulders and the two men sauntered back up Royal Street. “We got us an appointment with the Man himself. Damn, we may get this thing done after all!”
9
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CHAPTER 2 FAMILY
New Orleans, Louisiana Monday, 9:03 p.m. January 20, 2003 Lambert managed to disappear for the rest of the day, but Niemczyk caught up with him as he was leaving his home. Jack hadn’t been able to get another word out of the Cajun about whom they were to see or why it was important. Remy made it abundantly clear Jack wasn’t wanted along on the policeman’s trip to Fat City. Well, Remy Lambert was about to learn that Jack Niemczyk wasn’t that easy to get rid of. Knowing what time the meeting was scheduled to occur helped. Jack simply planted himself outside Remy’s house and waited for the captain of the Homicide Division to appear. Remy stepped out onto his front porch and frowned, exasperation 10
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and resignation warring for dominance on his face. Resignation won. With a sigh, he headed down the steps. Jack waited, leaning against Remy’s car, arms crossed, completely at ease while Remy stepped around a tricycle and made his way down the toy-strewn obstacle course of his front walk to the driveway. “You’re damn persistent, you know that?” Remy complained as he unlocked the car. The federal agent climbed into the passenger seat and smiled as he buckled his seatbelt. He was enjoying Remy’s indignation. “I’ve heard the same complaint about you.” The other man’s only response was a snort. Jack surveyed the yard as Remy started the car. “I didn’t know you had kids,” he commented. “My sister’s,” Remy explained. “She’s getting divorced. She’s staying with us for a while.” He harrumphed. “Not that you’d know anything about something like that.” Jack laughed. “You’ll be pleased to know that I understand all about that. My sister isn’t divorced, but the worthless bum she’s married to never keeps a job more than six months at a time. They ended up moving in with my parents semi-permanently. My folks really can’t afford five extra mouths to feed.” Jack stayed away from his parents’ home as much as possible for just that reason. Being in close proximately to his brother-in-law taxed his patience and his temper. Remy nodded knowingly. “So you end up footing the bill.” He grimaced as he heard some toy or another crunch under the wheels of the Camry. “Don’t you just hate being the responsible one?” Jack had a hard time picturing Remy as “the responsible one,” but agreed. “It sucks.” He shrugged as they pulled out onto the street. “But it’s always been that way. I’m the oldest,” he explained. Jack sometimes felt he’d been born responsible. With both his parents working, his childhood duties had often included looking after 11
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his younger sister and brothers. He was supposed to be their role model, their babysitter, and as often as not, their punching bag. He still felt that way sometimes. Jack watched the clapboard houses flow past, their cement steps leading up to cluttered porches and screen doors. In the yellow glow of the streetlights, they all looked slightly less dismal than they would by day. Looking at them too long sent a shiver through Jack. The light mist that was building as the night deepened blurred the edges of the pastel houses, turning them into memories. One occasionally stood out, a new coat of paint or fancy front door speaking of the battle its owners waged to escape the suffocation of the lower middle class. It was a futile battle. They’d never escape. It didn’t matter how hard they fought. It was always right there waiting to drag them back down. Jack could vouch for that. “So where are we going?” Jack asked to stop the direction his thoughts were moving. “Amato’s,” Remy replied and frowned at Jack’s dark suit. “And you’re damn sure not dressed for it. Don’t you own anything that doesn’t have to be starched?” Remy was wearing half-faded jeans and a dark shirt under his leather jacket. Jack thought the casual clothes made him look a good bit younger than his thirty-six years. Jack hadn’t bothered with a coat or jacket. The weather might seem chilly to the Cajun, but it was positively balmy to the boy from Chicago. He sighed. Remy was trying to distract him again. Jack had gotten information from hardened suspects more easily than he did from Remy, but he refused to be put off. “And what’s Amato’s?” Jack wasn’t going to let Remy change the subject or avoid his questions. “It’s a club,” Remy explained. “Good music, good food, good atmosphere. Only the locals know that, though. It ain’t a tourist hangout.” He went on to explain that Amato’s was known for the 12
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quality of its fried seafood and its eclectic mix of thumping hip hop, raucous rock, and gravelly blues. The clientele was mostly black and over thirty-five. It was one of the few places in the metropolis that you couldn’t just walk into; the doorman had to know you or know you were invited. Amato’s didn’t hand out membership cards that could be passed off to someone else and their doormen didn’t accept bribes. With good reason, too, Remy avowed; the family owned Amato’s. “Sal Amato inherited the place from his daddy, but it was just a hole. He needed cash to really make it what he wanted. Rumor has it that one of the Master’s children anted up the money. Not a bad plan on Sal’s part—got the cash and got the protection of the family. Hell, Sal’s a fucking genius! Got himself one of the best-paying concerns in the whole parish.” Jack nodded. So they were going to contact the local Mafia head. Now that was something he could understand—the Mafia had been a force in Chicago for well over a century. He’d grown up surrounded by wise guys and gangs in his mostly immigrant neighborhood. He’d had offers to join one or the other and been on the receiving end of his share of harassment when he wouldn’t. He sometimes thought that was one of the reasons he’d been so keen to join the FBI; it was one more way he could fight back against his childhood tormentors. Jack pulled his attention back to Lambert. He could approve of Remy’s plan, though he didn’t think it would lead anywhere. The Mob was generally useless in solving this type of crime. It wasn’t the sort of thing they were involved in. But there was the off chance they might be useful. The sanction of the local godfather might loosen tongues. So far, leads were few and very far between. Maybe some of the hookers or street sellers had seen something. If they wouldn’t talk to the police, they might talk to the local wise guy. Thinking of hookers reminded him of their visit to the French Quarter. “So who was the woman today? On the balcony? What’s her part in this?” 13
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Remy smiled. “She’s the Master’s lady. We’re damn lucky she has a fondness for good-looking Cajun boys. It could have taken weeks to see any of the family, much less the Man himself. We’re damn lucky he’s in the mood to see us at all.” Jack nodded. So she was the mistress of the local Mob boss. That explained a lot. He could see where she would appeal to an older wise guy. He’d noticed that they tended to like the overblown, bold type. The car rolled into a parking lot half-paved with asphalt, the other half a desultory mix of shell and rampant grass. Remy parked on the grass. He turned off the engine and faced the FBI agent, his elbow propped on the back of the car seat. “Now, I have a very important favor to ask a very important man. And I don’t want you messing it up.” He held up his hand when Jack would have spoken. “Look, why don’t you stay here? Just let me go in, do my business, and hopefully get out alive. Act as my backup, alright?” Jack didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. He set his jaw and watched his silent answer wind its way into Remy’s consciousness. There was no way Jack was going to sit idly in the car while Remy pursued the investigation. It just wasn’t going to happen. It took a few seconds, but Remy eventually saw he wasn’t going to be able to convince Jack to take part in any facet of that plan. Long before the other man spoke, Jack could tell Remy had given up. “Damn.” Remy made a noise of strangled frustration and Jack was hard pressed not to smile, especially when Remy turned to him with an annoyed glare. “Fine, but you listen to me. I don’t need some outsider messing this up. The Master can be touchy and his lady don’t like Yankees.” He held up his hand when the agent would have spoken. “I know, you’re trained and you’re the FBI and all that. But this is New Orleans and we got our own way of doing things. So I need you to follow my lead and for once don’t argue.” Remy ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “Be real careful what you say. You insult the 14
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Master and getting tossed out on our asses will be the least of our worries.” One look from Jack prompted him to add, “Please? I’m not joking when I say that this may be our only chance to end the killings.” Jack relented. He wanted this killer caught as desperately as any he’d ever hunted. If Remy had a plan, it was more than Jack could claim to have. “I’ll play along for now. But this better be worth it.” Remy grinned. “If we get the family to help us, it will be,” he assured Jack as he opened the car door. The night air was damp, making the hair along Jack’s collar curl. He smoothed it with one hand and thought again about getting it cut. New Orleans was making him sloppy. He really needed to wind the case up and get out of this degenerate excuse for a city. He sighed and slammed the car door, looking around him. The still air carried the earthen smell of a nearby vacant lot. The glow of neon and halogen was dim in the mist, making everything seem distant and muffling the occasional bursts of sound as the door of Amato’s opened to allow the favored in. The bouncer guarding the portal was a huge and muscular African American man with a computer pad in his front pocket and a pistol in the waistband of his rather expensive suit. Strangely enough, he had a large stick tucked into his pants as well. Jack couldn’t quite figure out the purpose of the piece of wood. Maybe it was used to increase the force of a blow, though brass knuckles would be more effective to Jack’s way of thinking. He didn’t have much time to ponder its purpose. Lambert was already requesting access to the club. Remy nodded toward the entrance and confidently stated, “Miss Baby said we should come by.” The bouncer grunted and checked the computer pad. After a tense couple of minutes, he grunted again and reached for a cell phone. The headphone in his ear squawked once. He muttered into the speaker tube, his voice deep and well-educated, “Captain Lambert says you 15
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invited him, ma’am. His name isn’t in the computer.” He listened for a moment then nodded. He moved so he was no longer blocking the door and grated words of admittance. “Head toward the bar and turn left when you get there. They have a table in the back.” With a nod, the two men moved into the club. Inside was much like any other bar Jack had seen in the city—dark, loud, and smoky. As Remy had said, probably ninety percent of the customers were African-American with a smattering of white faces scattered around the room. As they took the designated left turn at the bar and skirted the packed dance floor, Jack saw that at least three of the bar’s few Caucasian faces were clumped in a large booth against the back wall. As they drew nearer, he recognized the woman from Royal Street. He took one look at her outfit and it confirmed her part in the scheme of things. Everything about the woman screamed “hooker,” from the spiked heels of her thigh-high boots to the tiny gold leather skirt topped with a brocade corset. The too-red locks on her head were wild and completed the prostitute guise. The only thing missing was overly dramatic make-up coating her face. Her skin was remarkably cosmetic free, with only a touch of mascara augmenting what nature had given her. She stared boldly at the approaching authorities before leaning over to whisper in her companion’s ear. She had her arm draped over the shoulders of a man who had to be at least ten years her junior. If her look said “streetwalker” then his shouted “biker.” One booted foot rested on the edge of the extremely low table in front of him. The light of the neon sign over their heads gleamed dully on the worn leather of his black jacket and glinted from the gold of his necklace, rings, and the studs of a leather bracelet. It shone blue on the long blond hair he’d pulled back in a ponytail. He was without doubt handsome, but his face was too sharp in the FBI agent’s opinion. Arrogance, and something the agent couldn’t quite identify, marred his good looks. He smiled at whatever the woman had said and continued 16
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to gently stroke the inside of her thigh, one pale finger tracing circles just above the top of her suede boot. Her hand rested familiarly on his leather-clad thigh. Jack decided he was probably her pimp. The second man seated at the table was of the same age and far more handsome than the biker. In fact, Jack had never seen a more beautiful man. His features were flawless. They were masculine without being harsh. His jaw was strong but not overly so and there was a hint of a cleft to his chin. A straight nose topped lips that were neither too full nor too thin. Everything about his face was perfect; there was no other way to describe it. Deep set eyes of the most unusual blue-green Jack had ever seen simply completed his matchless aspect. His thick black hair reflected the blue light of the neon and his black tshirt and jeans made him a good match for the whore and the biker. Diamonds sparkled from his ears, as did a stud in his left nostril. He sprawled across the seat with one long leg stretched across the low table, his silver-bedecked cowboy boot twitching in time to the music. The arrogance of the first man was easily equaled by this one. “Street thug” was the term that came to the FBI agent’s mind, maybe “dealer.” Jack decided he disliked the man just on general principles. No man should look that good. Jack wondered at the absence of the Mafioso they were supposed to meet. This trio looked like third-class players at best, one step removed from working the street. He was surprised when Remy made straight for their booth. The policeman planted himself before them and smiled ingratiatingly. Jack was amazed at the diffidence Remy showed the trio. “Sir, thank you for seeing us,” Remy said to the biker. The music wasn’t as loud here and his words were clear. This was the person they’d driven across the river to meet? Thoughts of injuring Remy resurfaced in Jack’s mind. The blond biker twitched his lips in what could have been interpreted as a smile. “Not a problem, Captain,” he said in an accent 17
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Jack was surprised to hear in a south Louisiana bar. The biker was British and well-educated at that. “Always happy to help out New Orleans’ Finest.” Jack couldn’t quite reconcile the Prince Charles accent and the Hell’s Angels uniform. The biker gestured with the hand not busy feeling up the hooker. “Have a seat.” Remy looked surprised and quickly pushed Jack into the booth ahead of him, ignoring Jack’s frown. Jack didn’t like being that close to the hooker. Remy sent him a look that was half-plea and half-threat. Jack fought the urge to roll his eyes that was rapidly becoming habitual and scooted further into the booth. At least the hooker didn’t stink. Jack had been exposed to the sour semen-and-cheap-cologne scent of prostitutes too often in his line of work. This one actually smelled nice, something flowery and rich. He didn’t recognize the perfume but found he rather enjoyed the fragrance. A waitress appeared immediately. “Join me in a drink, Captain,” the biker continued. “Something to eat perhaps? “Thank you, but we’re on duty and…” Jack began, but was cut off by the Cajun. “We’d be honored.” Remy flashed him a look that clearly said, “Shut the fuck up!” The Cajun smiled up at the waitress. “Two beers, darling.” She looked at the biker pimp for confirmation and only after he nodded did she leave. The biker took a drink from his beer and turned a quizzical eyebrow on Jack Niemczyk. Jack was trying to decipher the various patches on the beat-up leather jacket the pimp was wearing. If his eyesight was holding up and if his memory was working, the man really was wearing a Hell’s Angels jacket, one of the original ones from the looks of it. Jack couldn’t see how this third-rate pimp had gained a jacket like that. Then a pair of eyes as blue as the neon sign above the booth met his own green ones and he experienced a jolt of something. Trepidation? Intimidation? He wasn’t sure what to call it, but a shiver ran the length 18
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of his spine. Maybe this boy was a little more than just a punk biker. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” the biker said in his English drawl. It was plain that to him Jack was there on probation. “No, sir,” Remy replied. “This is Special Agent John Patrick Niemczyk of the FBI. He’s with CASKU, their Child Abduction and Serial Killer Unit. He’s down here helping us on a case. We’d really appreciate you looking into it, too, sir.” The eyebrow climbed again. “FBI? Well now, don’t think we’ve dealt with one of those before.” The woman spoke for the first time. “Sure we did, honey. You remember that summer you took me to Annapolis? You damn near ate one before we found out he wasn’t a mugger.” Her accent was every bit as thick as Jack remembered. It was all smooth Southern molasses with something hard and biting hidden in it. Razor blades, he decided. She sounded like razor blades hidden in molasses. The man smiled brightly, making him look absurdly young. “Oh, yeah. He squealed like a girl when he saw my teeth.” Remy grinned. “Hell, sir, I damn near pissed myself the first time I saw your teeth.” The biker threw back his head and laughed, a throaty sound that settled into Jack’s gut. “But you didn’t. You didn’t squeal. You didn’t run. You flinched, but you stood up to it. You have stones, mate.” The woman squeezed the biker’s leg and settled a smoldering gaze on Remy. “Ain’t many can do that,” she drawled. “Takes a strong man to stand up to Alec in full beast face.” She leaned forward and picked up the half-full highball glass from the table, her breasts nearly spilling from the top of her corset. She seemed completely unconcerned by the danger to her apparently nonexistent modesty. “That’s why you get to talk to him, Remy honey.” She downed most of the liquor with a toss of her head. The waitress appeared and set down fresh bottles of beer for all the 19
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men. A bottle of Crown Royal Special Reserve was already on the table next to the woman’s highball glass. The waitress placed red plastic baskets of fried oysters, shrimp, crab claws, and catfish on the table. She added onion rings and fries, along with a stack of small plates. “Help yourself,” the biker—what had the woman called him? Alec?—instructed. Even the scent of the food didn’t overpower the subtle tones of the hooker’s perfume. Jack could still smell it, lingering enticingly beneath the smells of cigarette smoke, seafood, and liquor that permeated the bar. Remy thanked Alec and filled a plate. “Damn, these are hot,” he said, shaking his nearly burned fingers. The woman grinned crookedly. “Alec doesn’t like his food cold.” They all laughed except Jack, who didn’t get the joke. Remy filled a plate for the FBI agent and set it in front of him, taking the opportunity to lean near his ear and hiss, “Eat. And smile, damn it!” Remy followed his own advice and grinned at the pair. Jack frowned at Remy as the Cajun turned his attention to the third member of the trio, who’d been observing the exchange with a smirk. “Didn’t know you were in town, René. What are you up to?” The black-haired thug shrugged. “Not much. Come down for Mardi Gras. Bébé insists we all come home for Carnival. Same as Papa’s birthday and Thanksgiving. And I always do what Bébé wants, you know?” His accent was far more pronounced than Remy Lambert’s was. “You doing all right? How’s that pretty wife you went and got yourself?” Remy’s smile was genuine. “Margaret’s fine. She’s better than fine. Never thought I’d like being a married man.” The biker grinned broadly. “Nothing like it, old man.” He threw his arm around the woman and pulled her close. The woman smiled up at him and he bent his head to kiss her with hungry intensity. René smiled at the pair before turning his attention to the other 20
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Cajun. “How’s your mama and them? You tell her I asked after her, yeah?” “I’ll do that. René’s my third cousin once removed on my mama’s side,” Remy explained to Jack. The agent had to admit that he felt invisible to the others at the table. After Remy’s brief introduction, they hadn’t even glanced at him. It struck him as peculiar. Normally, he received wary and watchful glances from the criminal element. The title of FBI agent had that effect on the less-than-lawful. This group didn’t seem to particularly care that a federal officer was in their midst. “Makes Remy practically family,” the woman said, surfacing from Alec’s kiss, but remaining in his embrace. She started to say something else, but was interrupted by the beeping of a cell phone. She answered with a simple, “Yeah?” She listened for a moment before closing the tiny device and putting it away. “There’s a little trouble out front,” she told Alec. “I’ll be back in a minute.” “You need me?” he asked. She shook her head. “No, sweetheart. I’ll take care of it. Keep some food warm for me. A little mayhem always gives me an appetite.” She kissed him again. He grinned lasciviously. “Yeah, it does. But not for food.” She chuckled. To the agent’s surprise, Alec and René stood when she did. Remy quickly followed suit, leaving Jack to scramble to his feet. Alec held out a hand and, using it to steady herself, she stepped lightly onto the foot-high table and across it. Alec’s eyes never left her as she strode away and disappeared from view. He signaled and a rather large man appeared before him. “Keep an eye on your grandmother. Make sure she’s all right,” Alec instructed. The black man nodded and moved away, following the hooker’s path. Alec’s order made absolutely no sense to Jack. 21
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Alec sat back down and turned his attention to the policeman and the agent. “So, what brings you to me?” Remy leaned toward him. “It’s like this, Master. Someone’s killing girls. Lots of them. We’ve got twenty at least over the last year-and-ahalf.” One of Alec’s golden eyebrows quirked upwards again as Remy continued. “They’ve been found all over south Louisiana and the Mississippi delta but they’ve mostly been concentrated in the New Orleans area. We’re sure at least five are copycat slayings, but we’ve had ten murders in the last twelve months we can definitely link to a single perpetrator. Jack thinks there are at least two others that should be in that same category.” Alec seemed unmoved. “People die all the time, detective. People get killed. You know that as well as I do. Hell, I’ve been responsible for a few hundred in my time.” The sardonic expression on his Teutonic features was as shocking as the casual confession of mass killing. Remy nodded. “Yes, sir. I understand that. But you see, the corpses we’re finding, they’ve been emptied of blood. There’s not a drop left in any of them.” Remy’s words had a definite effect on both the Brit and the other Cajun. Alec became very still while René sat up straight and leaned toward his cousin. “Any of them walking?” the brunette asked. Jack didn’t understand the question, but Remy did. “Not that I know of, and I’ve kept a close eye out.” Alec held up his hand and a tense silence settled over the group. “Let me think about it.” Silence reigned. It lasted several minutes. Alec eventually said, “Do you think it’s…” His head shot up and he peered intently at the dance floor. The other men followed the direction of his gaze. The crowd on the dance floor parted and an empty space appeared. The music changed from jiggly hip-hop to something older. Jack 22
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thought it might be Prince. Alec’s hooker sauntered confidently into the cleared space on the edge of the dance floor. She was directly in front of the men in the booth. Jack wasn’t sure how Alec had known she was there. Of course, he’d been fairly confused since they’d entered the club. He hated it. Jack liked to know exactly what was going on all of the time; it went along with his tendency toward being a control freak. The woman started to dance and Jack changed his appellation of her from “hooker” to “stripper.” She must have been an exotic dancer at some point in her career. Her dance was well enough if you liked that sort of thing. He preferred his dancers with a little more class. Her dance was entirely too suggestive. Actually, “suggestive” wasn’t the right word. “Blatant” would be better. She didn’t suggest anything; her moves pretty much shouted what she wanted. The FBI agent did notice that her eyes never left the biker’s. Whatever else she might be doing, this dance was only for him. The rest of the world just happened to be watching. And she didn’t care. As she moved her hands over her body and swayed to the heavy beat, she was focused completely on Alec. And he was focused completely on her. She crooked a finger at him in the ages-old gesture for “Come here.” Alec was up and launching himself from the booth before the FBI agent could quite process the move. He’d never seen anyone move that fast or jump so far in a single leap. Alec landed in a slight crouch before the dancer and, placing a hand on her ankle, moved his way up her body until that hand slid around her waist and pulled her to him. The Cajun dealer grinned broadly. “Damn, they in fine form tonight,” he observed. “It’s been a while.” Remy Lambert nodded, his eyes fixed on the pair grinding against each other on the dance floor. “I hear they’re like this all the time.” His cousin laughed, but Jack noted that something odd shone from his turquoise eyes. “Yeah, they mostly are.” He took a deep drink of his beer. “They don’t see much of anything past each other. Baby, she 23
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don’t see nothing but my sire. Never has. Rest of us, we barely exist to her.” He picked at the label of the beer bottle, slowing removing the “D” from “Dixie.” Remy shook his head. “You got to let that go, René. You touch her and your daddy’ll kill you.” “I know,” René answered. “He broke my nose a month ago.” He looked up at his kinsman. “He did something damn stupid. Told him he do it again and I take her and run.” He grinned mockingly. “Thought he’s gonna kill me right then. If I didn’t kill him first.” He glanced up at the other Cajun and laughed. “Don’t worry. I won’t challenge him. Hell, I got my own city; I don’t want New Orleans. Besides, family doesn’t fight family and he’s my sire. He made me. Gave me everything I got.” He turned his attention back to the beer bottle. “Besides, she’ll never leave him.” His blue-green eyes turned hard. “So me, I’m gone most o’ the time.” He turned his attention back to the dance floor, as did Jack. The dancers were wrapped as tightly around each other as it was possible for two people to be. The Dealer’s teal eyes glowed with something close to hate. “I’m not Jean. I can’t sit around and pretend I don’t want her. I got my own life to live, me,” he said defiantly. Jack was a trained psychologist and he knew that tone; the Dealer was trying to convince himself of something he knew wasn’t so. Remy nodded. “I sometimes think I envy you, then I think about what all you got going on and I’m glad I’m just a normal man.” René laughed out loud. “Hell, Remy! I don’t regret it! I never had this much fun when I was alive.” He glanced back at the dance floor. “Uh-oh, Bébé getting serious with it.” Jack watched as Baby wrapped her legs around Alec’s waist. The young man had no trouble holding her as he headed purposefully toward the table. 24
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“Oh, hell,” René muttered and swept the baskets of food to one side, but his eyes held a hectic glitter. Jack jumped as Baby’s body hit the table with a thud, Alec atop her, his mouth welded to hers. Her legs were still wrapped around Alec, her hands clutching at his shirt. He released her mouth and fastened his lips on her neck. Remy’s hand snaked out and clamped vice-like onto the FBI agent’s upper arm. His voice whispered desperately in Jack Niemczyk’s ear, “Don’t say a word. No matter what happens, no matter what you see, don’t move and don’t say a word.” Remy’s eyes were serious and his jaw was clenched. The woman the two Cajuns called Baby moaned, “Alec, please. Need you. Need you now. Want you.” Remy’s fingers were cutting into Jack’s arm, but he barely felt them. The air was subtly charged, energy feeding through it, making the short hairs on Jack’s neck crawl. He tried very hard to find anything to look at other than the duo before him. The black-haired Cajun was focused entirely on the pair and the glitter in his eyes made the FBI agent uncomfortable. There was something disturbing in the intensity of his gaze. Jack recognized a borderline personality when he saw one; that pretty face hid a potential killer. The Dealer was far more dangerous than his beautiful exterior would lead the average person to expect. There was a hunger there as deep as any Jack had ever seen and he’d spent his adult life exploring the voracious obsessions of serial murderers. Remy was just as focused, but there was fear as well as fascination on his face. Jack didn’t understand it. Disgust he could have understood, even interest and lust, but not the evident alarm his partner was experiencing. The anxiety on Remy Lambert’s face increased as the woman begged, “Drink from me. Please, Alec.” With a muffled declaration of “Mine!” Alec buried his face in her neck once more. As she cried out, Remy paled and surreptitiously 25
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crossed himself. His grip on Jack’s arm was bruising. Remy’s lips moved, but no sound came from them. When Alec lifted his head and licked something dark from his lips, Jack felt Remy shudder. The FBI agent was focused on the other lawman’s pale face and didn’t notice Alec wiping his mouth or straightening Baby’s skirt. His attention was drawn back to them when Alec lifted her gently and resumed his seat in the booth with her cradled in his lap. The sheer satiated wickedness on the young man’s face sent a shiver through Jack’s body. There was something here that ran deep below the surface and Jack couldn’t quite grasp it. His body was shouting at him in a fight-or-flight response, but he’d seen nothing frightening. So why was his heart hammering so hard his chest hurt and his lungs felt as though they couldn’t get enough oxygen? There was no logical reason for him to feel the least bit afraid. But he wasn’t alone in his fear. Lambert, who had a reputation as a hard-hitting, hard-drinking, hard-living man, looked like he was going to pass out from sheer terror. What the hell was going on here? Remy finally released the other man’s arm and took a long pull from his beer. Baby, her eyes soft and sated, reached out and poured a generous amount of whiskey into her highball glass. She held it out to the Cajun policeman. Remy downed it in one gulp. She smiled unpleasantly. “You’ll do, detective. You’ll do.” Alec smirked. “You want my help, there’s always a price,” he stated. Remy nodded, but paled even more. Alec laughed. “You’ve already paid it, mate.” He plucked the glass from the policeman’s hand and held it as Baby filled it with her whiskey. Alec held it out in salute to Remy before draining the glass. “I don’t deal with cowards but like I said, you got a pair on you, boy-o, and you proved it. You want the Pride to help you; we’ll help.” Baby reached into a tiny purse secreted on the back of the booth and pulled out a small business card. As Remy took it, Jack got a good look 26
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at it. It contained nothing but a telephone number. “Call us the next time there’s a body.” She turned her attention to Alec. “I’m hungry, honey.” He smirked. “I’ll bet you are. I could do with a bite, myself.” He growled and the sound seemed to resonate into Jack’s bones. There was some primal call buried in that growl. “René?” The glitter in the handsome brunette’s eyes was brighter as he gulped down the last of his beer and rose. “Yeah, let’s go find someone.” Jack felt Remy shudder again. Alec laughed and tossed Baby to René, who caught her easily. The beautiful Cajun kissed her before swinging her to her feet. Half-a-dozen men and women appeared from the various reaches of the club. “Let’s go hunting, children,” Alec said before turning those electric blue eyes on the policeman and the Fed. “Call us.” Without any further leave-taking, he signaled and the group moved through the bar, the crowd on the dance floor parting like a bow wave before a cruiser. Remy reached over and picked up the whiskey bottle. Not bothering with the glass, he took a hearty drink. “God damn,” he muttered. “And God help us all.”
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CHAPTER 3 LADIES OF THE E VENING
New Orleans, Louisiana Tuesday, 1:00 a.m. January 21, 2003 Jack Niemczyk stared out the passenger window as Remy Lambert guided the car further into the labyrinth of warehouses that crowded this section of Algiers. He swiped his hand across the glass, clearing an arc through the condensation. The moisture was chill against his fingers and he wished he could wipe it across his brow. He felt too hot. He opened the window an inch, ignoring Remy’s protests. He wasn’t in the mood to cater to Lambert’s wishes, especially if the call Remy had received was legitimate. There was another body waiting for them at the end of this drive. He pushed speculations about that out of his mind. He didn’t want to form any opinions until he saw the crime 28
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scene. He couldn’t afford to project whatever he was feeling onto the victim or the UNSUB. He sighed. UNSUB. Unknown Subject. He personally hated the term, but it was more than standard police jargon; it was nearly required usage. In his head the UNSUB was usually categorized as something much more profane and uncomplimentary. Murdering bastard was a favorite. Mother-fucking son of a bitch was the next runner-up. He tried to contain the anger that was taking fiery bites from his gut. He was pretty sure he was going to have another ulcer attack if he didn’t get past this. Everything about this case was causing him to drive himself too hard. He wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t relaxing at all. He was drinking too much, both coffee and bourbon. He was exercising too much, but only in physical effort could he burn off the frustration. If he hit the punching bag long enough and hard enough, he could find a few minutes’ peace. If he could run an extra mile or stay an hour longer on the basketball court, he might be able to sleep for a few minutes. Unfortunately, it was never more than a few minutes. He sighed. And now he couldn’t seem to get the evening’s events out of his mind. The meeting in the bar chased thoughts of the killer around in his head. There was something more than normally disturbing about the whole thing. It wasn’t that they were dealing with obvious underworld figures and criminals. That wasn’t what was bothering him. Jack had been in law enforcement eighteen years and knew that sometimes you had to fraternize with the enemy to stop a greater evil. He couldn’t actually grasp what was bothering him. Those three back at the bar were more than they appeared; that much was plain. He’d known that just from the way Remy treated them. But if this Alec was the head of the local Mafia, Jack had never heard or seen anything like it. God damn it, the biker couldn’t be more than twenty-five. But Remy was afraid of him. What was there about this Alec that had a case 29
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hardened veteran like Lambert terrified? Jack had felt more than an edge of that terror himself. He didn’t know why, but the biker scared him. Remy knew, but he wasn’t sharing the knowledge. He’d simply stated, “You already know more than an outsider ought to. Just forget what you heard and saw. It’s best for everybody.” Not that it should be hard for the Fed; he had understood maybe one quarter of the conversation. Still, it pissed Jack off. Unfortunately for Remy, Jack hated mysteries. It was one reason he’d pursued a career in law enforcement. He had to solve mysteries. It was simply a part of him. And he’d solve the mystery of the biker, the whore, and the dealer even if it killed him. Remy parked the car in an empty loading zone and led his companion toward a blue-and-white parked on the curb. He tapped the condensation-fogged glass and it slid down. “Where is it?” The police officer in the car handed Remy a heavy, long-handled flashlight. “In that alley, about halfway down. You can’t miss it.” “Thanks, Pep. I appreciate you calling me first,” Remy told the fat policeman. “Just doing what you asked, Cap’n,” the officer responded with a grin. Remy nodded. “I’ll take care of everything from this point. You and Carl just wait here. I got some people coming, just wave ’em through, will you?” *
*
*
Jack stared at the body lying in a haphazard heap against a dirty brick wall. She made number twenty-three. He cursed silently. He didn’t need to even touch it to know that it was the product of the killer he was searching for. Nude body of a Caucasian female, thirty to fifty years of age, dumped in an urban alley or side road after nightfall, all clothing, personal effects, and identification missing. He didn’t need to 30
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look at the body to know that she would exhibit signs of blunt force trauma to the head, that her throat would be cut severing the carotid artery, and that her body wouldn’t have a drop of blood left in it. The MO and signature was too familiar. This was the same killer; he could feel it. “Shouldn’t Forensics be here by now?” He pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket, already shifting to observer mode, all his senses focused on the body and the area around it. “What’s keeping them?” he muttered to Remy. The Cajun’s lips twitched uncomfortably. “Could be because nobody’s called them yet.” “What? Why hasn’t anyone called them yet?” Jack demanded. “What kind of game are you playing, Lambert? The Forensics team should have been notified immediately. The entire task force should be on their way here by now.” He pulled out his cell phone. The Cajun snatched it away and pocketed it. He shook his head. “No game. I just want this to stop.” He sighed. “Look, I want this bastard behind bars as badly as you do. And I’m going about doing just that the only way I know how.” Before the argument could escalate, strong lights flashed across them as a pickup turned into the alley. It slowly rolled to a stop, tires scrunching on the oyster shell roadway. The headlights picked out the body, casting stark shadows on the brick wall and turning the puddles in the ruts to murky white. Jack was only half-surprised when the redhead from the bar slid down from the driver’s seat. She had traded her working clothes for black jeans and a loose red sweater. Her biker boyfriend leaped from the passenger side and strode to the body. With negligent ease, he squatted down beside the dead girl and flipped her from her side onto her back. “Hey, that’s a crime scene. Don’t touch anything,” Jack protested as he moved toward him. “Be quiet,” Remy snapped, stopping Jack with an outstretched arm, 31
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and went to stand beside the Englishman. “Can you tell anything about it, sir?” Alec motioned for Baby to join him. “Tell me what you sense, rose.” “Lambert!” Jack grated. “This is a crime scene and you just let them compromise it!” He was so furious he could barely speak. He had heard that the NOPD was the most corrupt force in the country, but this was beyond anything he’d ever encountered. Experienced officers who wanted to catch a killer didn’t let this sort of contamination occur. He ground his teeth and headed for Remy. Remy flashed a grin at Alec before whirling on his compatriot. He grabbed Jack by the upper arm and hauled him across the alley, jacket tails flapping and long legs whipping through the wet stalks of grass. “I told you that they are our only chance of stopping this killer and I meant it. The Master is the only one with any chance of finding out what’s going on,” Remy whispered desperately. “Now you shut up or…or…” He clenched his fist. “Or what? You’ll beat me up? Bribe me? That’s the way it works down here, isn’t it? Intimidation and graft?” Jack sneered. “I hear you’re all really good at the whole graft thing, working the bars and pimps. Have all the money and whores you want.” Jack couldn’t stand crooked cops. He didn’t care that Remy’s face had reddened or that his fists were clenched in frustration. Jack’s own hands curled into fists. Remy might be very surprised at how good Jack was with them. “You taken up pimping now? Why don’t you just set me up with the redhead? She looks like a real man-eater.” Baby burst out laughing, surprising both men. “Sorry. Enhanced hearing,” she told Remy. He started to grin. Baby covered her mouth with one hand, but didn’t really succeed in suppressing her mirth. She grinned broadly at the FBI agent. “Don’t worry, as a rule I try not to eat government officials… unless they really annoy me. They tend to leave a bad taste 32
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in my mouth.” She thought for a second and gave the agent a considering once-over. “On the other hand… well, I don’t normally go for blonds, but you look yummy enough.” The golden-haired Alec snorted. The look on Jack’s face must have been priceless because she burst into laughter again and Remy couldn’t help but join her. Jack wanted to kill them all. Before Jack could act on that impulse, Alec shook his head indulgently. “Rose, we really do have work to do here,” he chided gently. “Sorry, honey,” she answered and turned her attention back to him. She squatted beside him and sniffed. She immediately drew back, shaking her head. She reminded Jack of a kitten with water on its nose. “What is that? Yuck!” “Disinfectant,” Alec answered. “You haven’t been near a hospital since you were turned, have you, dove?” She shook her head and he continued. “The smell will make you sick. All that blood and disinfectant.” He looked down at the dead girl. “Smells like she was drenched in it.” He looked up at the two lawmen with intense blue eyes. “Odd thing. There’s almost no other smell. There’s very little scent on her at all.” Jack, who had been only half-listening to Alec, was only seconds from punching Remy in the teeth, but he froze at the biker’s statement. Remy shook off Jack’s hand, abandoning the federal agent to join Alec. “Disinfectant? We didn’t find any on the other bodies.” Alec nodded. “Probably because it’s the same shit your coroner uses during his exams. Smelled it often enough on new children.” Jack had no idea what that meant, but it obviously upset Remy and the first part of the statement made Jack forget he was angry. The use of disinfectant had been noted by an FBI forensic pathologist, but not released to the NOPD. The Orleans parish coroner hadn’t noted it, probably for exactly the reason Alec stated. This was one of those times the FBI didn’t share everything with the public or with other law 33
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enforcement agencies. There were hints and clues, things about this murderer that had led Jack to believe the killer was somehow involved in law enforcement. It was in the detailed profile he’d created, but that profile in its entirety had not been released outside the FBI. Use of disinfectant to help obscure and remove trace evidence was only one of the items that led Jack to think the killer was very familiar with police and forensics procedures. What he couldn’t figure out was how the biker had identified the use of disinfectant just by smelling. The previous bodies had always been rinsed after the disinfectant was used and almost no smell remained. He’d detected none on this body either. He was suddenly very curious to find out what the pimp had to say. “What else?” he asked, intrigued. Alec favored him with a sarcastic twist of his lips. He considered the corpse again. “She’s been dead about six hours, no more than seven. She was restrained for some time before her death. There are very faint marks on her wrists and ankles. Leather straps, probably padded, not ropes or cuffs or chains. I can just barely smell the leather on her. She wasn’t killed here; she was dumped. There’s not a sign of blood anywhere around her. Not a single drop. She was out cold when they did her. No signs of a struggle. Minimal bruising, no scratches. There’s not a hint of fear on her—no adrenaline, no left-overs from a hormone rush. She was raped after she died, but there’s only a small trace of semen on her. He’s good at clean up, the sick bastard.” “Oh that’s icky!” Baby protested. “Sex with the dead? That’s just gross.” Alec smiled broadly, though it seemed to Jack that he tried not to. “Dove, I don’t really think you’re in any position to complain about anyone’s taste for necrophilia.” “Well…” She was obviously trying to think of a proper retort. “There’s undead and then there’s dead-dead and she’s dead-dead. And you aren’t. You’re very alive and moving and very not-so-dead.” 34
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Alec laughed. “As are you, rose red.” Jack could actually see Remy shudder. The other man was looking a tad green as well. Jack watched Remy swallow before asking shakily in what appeared to be an attempt to change the subject, “What else did you find, Master?” “She died of blood loss. There’s something odd about it, though. She’s been completely drained, more so than I’ve ever seen. And she didn’t die from any of these wounds. The slit on her throat was made after she was dead.” The other dead women’s throats had also been slashed postmortem. That was another little detail whose distribution was carefully controlled by the inner circle of the task force. Jack narrowed his eyes. The biker was either a hell of a forensics expert or Lambert was running a deep, deep game. Jack would find out before the night was over, he swore to himself. Alec tilted the dead girl’s head so the detectives could see the wound more clearly. “Do you see this, rose?” Baby nodded. “Two puncture wounds. The slash doesn’t hide it very well.” Remy swallowed audibly. “So it was one of you?” Alec stood, brushing a patch of powdered shell from his dark pants. It was damp and simply smeared, leaving a swath of gray-white mud across his leather-clad knee. “Nope. Not a hint of a scent of one of us on her.” He looked directly at Remy. “If it had been one of my kind I’d be able to smell it. Nothing can erase or cover that up.” “Then why the cut?” Remy frowned in confusion. “Why try to cover up a bite mark? Why try to hide it? The PD and coroner, we all know what to do when someone’s drained and has a bite mark.” Jack stared at the Cajun. Did that mean that the NOPD regularly covered up certain murders? Considering what he’d seen tonight, he wouldn’t put it past them. The sheer unprofessional behavior Remy was exhibiting was as shocking as anything Jack had ever experienced. It 35
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appeared hiding murders wasn’t beyond the policeman. Jack ran though his options quickly. He decided to keep quiet for the moment. He’d observe and listen. And he’d start a little investigation of his own when the sun came up. If it were true that the NOPD was ignoring specific murders, he’d put some people behind bars. Yes. I’m gonna keep my mouth shut and find out all I can. Then he’d take them all down hard, the biker, the whore, all of them. And if Remy were involved, he’d find himself in front of a judge, too. Alec shot the Homicide captain a look full of meaning. “I don’t think it was supposed to hide it. I think it was supposed to look like they were trying to hide a bite mark.” Jack joined Remy in frowning confusion. He realized that there was being quiet and playing it cool, and then there was appearing oblivious. “What are you talking about? Bite marks? Smelling perpetrators on corpses?” Alec dismissed him with a gesture, but Baby looked up at her husband. “Why can’t I smell anyone on her? It’s unnerving. People always smell like other people.” A line appeared between her brows. “Remy smells like a woman—I assume it’s Margaret—and the Fed and about a dozen other people. Our good agent smells like Remy and some of the same people as Remy and some different ones, too.” Jack sneered again. They were all lunatics. “And who does Alec smell like?” Baby smiled and stared at her lover. “Alec smells like me.” She stood. Alec was only inches from her. She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with leather, tobacco, and cologne. “Alec smells like the children and the house and everything that’s ours. Alec smells wonderful.” Blue eyes met golden-green ones and the world narrowed for the two of them. “Yeah, right.” Jack looked at the body on the chalky ground, ignoring the soulful glances the two were exchanging. He’d seen 36
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enough of their affection tonight to last a lifetime. “I’m supposed to believe you can tell all that from just sniffing around.” The Master laughed and looked at Remy. “You haven’t told him, have you? He has no idea who and what he’s dealing with.” Remy’s expression clearly said he wished he’d stayed home and gone to bed early. “Didn’t figure it was my place.” “You were right about that.” Alec fished a pack of cigarettes from his jacket and looked at the FBI agent. “I can tell you what you last ate, when you last had a woman, and if you’re interested in mine—just by sniffing you.” He lit a cigarette. “You had Italian before you stopped by the bar and had seafood with us. Wherever it was, they used too much garlic and basil.” Jack simply stared at the biker in open-mouthed shock. Okay, so Alec had been having him followed. The biker would pay for that. “You haven’t gotten laid in over two weeks. Damn, in New Orleans that’s practically illegal,” Alec continued as he blew a plume of smoke into the foggy air. “And Baby doesn’t turn you on. Hmm, maybe that explains why you haven’t gotten laid. If my precious doesn’t do it for you, you must be blind or apoplectic.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe it’s men that do it for you. Have you checked out our good captain? Baby thinks he’s hot property.” “Damn straight!” Baby confirmed. She laughed. “If we weren’t both married, I’d be crawling all over you, Remy honey.” Jack was tempted to grin as Remy’s eyes widened and he looked as though he wasn’t sure if he should be complimented or terrified. He finally settled on terrified and Jack was hard pressed not to laugh. Jack could tell Baby liked the captain’s trim form, bright gray eyes, and thick, brown hair. The way his mouth quirked up at the corners as if he was about to laugh all the time was very attractive; Remy exuded boyish charm from every pore. Or at least that was what all the women Jack had met seemed to think. The Cajun looked more than relieved when Baby’s golden eyes 37
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turned appreciatively on Jack. “FBI here isn’t bad at all, either,” she said. To Jack’s disgust she elaborated. “You’re every bit as appealing as Remy.” She grinned. “I like the way the sun’s lightened your hair. I don’t get to see that much any more.” Jack frowned though he wasn’t surprised at her reaction. He knew he wasn’t conventionally handsome like Remy or Alec and certainly didn’t have the Dealer’s astounding beauty, but he knew that the smooth planes of his face, the inherent strength of it, gave him a singular beauty. He’d been told so more than once. He was tall and athletic and the hours he spent working off his frustrations showed. The tone of her next words made it clear that she had decided that overall he was a very pretty man. “And I really like green eyes.” Her smirk was overdone and Jack disregarded her comments with a scowl. Alec ignored them all, lit a second cigarette from the stub of the first, and blew a stream of smoke into the night air. “A human killed this girl. Drained her blood. I don’t know why. I’d look into any cults that are in need of human blood for rituals and such if I were you. Never can tell what might happen when the occult is involved.” Jack’s sneer grew. “The occult? Next you’ll be telling me that a vampire’s draining them so it can drink their blood.” “No, you stupid prat, I’m telling you that a vampire didn’t kill these women.” He shot Jack a look of intense disgust and turned to the policeman. “One of your average humans did this. You’ll find that in general humans are worse than vampires.” Jack could tell this was a line of reasoning Remy didn’t want to think about. Jack didn’t care; he was a lawman, not a theologian. Remy nodded. “Any help you could give on finding this perp would be appreciated, sir.” “Not a problem, detective.” The Master turned to his wife. “In fact, why don’t you give Stewart a call, dove? Let him know what’s going on. He might have some ideas.” 38
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Remy cleared his throat and asked hesitantly. “Ah, sir? Is Dr. Westmoreland in town?” Baby obviously didn’t like where this was leading. She was one up on Jack. He didn’t have a clue. And he hated it. Nonetheless, he hadn’t made his reputation by talking; he’d made it by listening and observing. So he kept his mouth shut. He’d let them hang themselves with the rope he’d gladly provide. “No, Captain Lambert, he isn’t. He’ll be here by the end of the week, though. And I don’t want any of your people bothering him,” she said coldly. “Stewart Westmoreland didn’t do this. This isn’t his style. Stewart has been known to slit a throat or two, but he likes to cut a bit first; you know that. He likes to hit. Likes to break a few bones.” She looked over at the body. “Besides, Stewart doesn’t do girls. And Stewart doesn’t rape. You find a male corpse that’s slashed and beat till Hell wouldn’t have it and then you can ask me if Stewart did it. Until then, you leave him out of this.” Jack stared at her incredulously. What the hell sort of people were these two? He’d give it two minutes then he was walking out of the alley and calling the task force from the patrol car parked on the street. Then he’d arrest Remy himself and shove him into the back of said police car, making sure to accidentally knock Remy’s head on the doorframe hard enough to give him a concussion. Remy actually looked relieved. “Master? If it wasn’t one of your people…” “My people don’t take the innocent,” Alec interrupted sharply. “You know that.” Jack’s frown deepened as Remy turned apologetic. “I meant no disrespect. But there have been times when some of yours went, well, bad.” “And I’ve always taken care of them, haven’t I?” Alec hissed through clenched teeth. Baby placed herself between the two men, but it was obvious she 39
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was protecting her mate. “Alec doesn’t need to be reminded of the family he’s had to kill,” she snarled. “You might want to remember that he kills his own to protect your kind.” Her eyes were cold and hard. Remy held up his hands in a gesture of conciliation. “I know that, ma’am. And I meant no disrespect to the Master. God knows the murder rate has dropped dramatically since you all took over. Greater New Orleans is a better place because you’re here. We all know that the average person’s got nothing to fear from your folks.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I was just… I’ve got twenty-three dead women.” Frustration radiated from him. “And I’m no closer to stopping it now than I was a year ago.” He slammed his fist into a pile of packing crates and corrugated boxes, kicking and scattering them across the rank grass and pale soil. For the first time since the investigation had started, Jack felt a kinship to the Cajun. He’d thrown more than a few reports and glasses of bourbon against the wall in sheer frustration. He dreamed of the case, the dead women beseeching him to find their killer, begging him to help them. He felt they would never rest until he found the animal that had murdered them. Jack was personally connected to each and every case he’d ever been on. This one, like all the others, had wormed its way into his heart and mind. He wouldn’t be able to let it go easily. He wanted this killer badly. Apparently, so did Remy. The Cajun might be a jerk-off in Jack’s opinion, but at least he cared. Jack decided he might like the man just a little bit. Alec stepped up and put a gentle, restraining hand on the detective’s shoulder. “You are closer to finding him, mate. You’ve got me helping you now.” Jack could have sworn his blue eyes flashed yellow for just an instant. “This is my city. Someone’s taken up killing in my town. And no one dies violently in this town without my say-so.” Baby nodded. “And you know I can’t stand rapists. Alive or dead, that poor girl didn’t deserve that.” She smiled ferally. “I find him and 40
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you won’t have to worry about a long court case. I’ll hang him from a wall for you, Captain.” “I wouldn’t mind that, Miss Baby. Not one bit,” Remy said with deep approval. “In fact, ma’am, been meaning to thank you for that one a few months ago. I knew he was the one raping and beating all those hookers to death, but I couldn’t get enough evidence to arrest him. You did the whole department a favor when you took him apart. I didn’t mind picking up those pieces one little bit.” “You’re welcome, Captain Lambert,” she said. “I was once in their position. Any man does that deserves to die.” Jack Niemczyk looked at the soft face of the red-haired whore. “So, did you kill the man who attacked you?” She grinned again. “Naw, he was already dead. But I beat the shit out of him. We get on all right now,” she joked. Jack reverted to the “they’re-all-fucking-crazy” line of thought. Alec shook his head. “Stop baiting the FBI, rose. He’s not up to your speed.” He sighed. “We’ve done all we can here. Call your people in, Agent Niemczyk. You’re going to have a full night ahead of you. Let’s go, rose red.” Baby scribbled a quick note on the back of Remy’s hand. “That’s my e-mail. Send me what you have on this case. Files, reports, all that. We’ll look into it properly.” “We’ll increase patrols as well. We usually do around Mardi Gras anyway,” Alec added. He held out a hand to his consort. “Come on, dove. Want to go to the park? We can waltz under the Dueling Oaks.” She took his hand and smiled gently. “Mmm, I’d like that. Can we?” He caressed her face, running his thumb across her lower lip. “Of course, my flower. I’ll sing for you and we’ll dance until the sky turns gray.” He wrapped his other arm around her waist and waltzed her to the truck, heedless of the dead body or the two lawmen watching them. Without another word, they drove away. 41
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Jack Niemczyk stared incredulously at the other lawman. Remy wasn’t going to get off easy this time. He had a lot of explaining to do and he was going to do it or Jack was going to beat him half to death. He and Remy watched as blue lights strobed across the alley and police cars descended on the crime scene. It looked as though someone had jumped the gun and called the task force already. But for once, his mind wasn’t entirely on his job. His thoughts were focused on a pair of lovers who Remy Lambert seemed to think held the future of the city in their hands. He wasn’t so sure that was the case, but he had no doubt if he drove out to the Dueling Oaks, he’d see two dark figures swaying and twirling in the darkness under the spreading limbs of the ancient trees.
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CHAPTER 4 THE QUEEN O F N EW O RLEANS
New Orleans, Louisiana Tuesday, 11:00 am January 21, 2003 Jack Niemczyk strolled into the offices of the Federal Bureau of Investigations, New Orleans Field Office, feeling rather pleased he was functional at all. He’d been up all night, not leaving the crime scene until well after dawn. He’d tried to grab a few hours sleep, but hadn’t succeeded. Another woman had died because he hadn’t caught a killer. Sleep was going to be a rare commodity for the next few days. He wouldn’t be able to really sleep until he’d done his job and helped the NOPD catch the bastard. So instead of resting, he’d ended up working on his laptop, filing his report on the most recent murder and updating his case files before giving up and heading into the office. He fell into 43
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his chair and stared at his coffee cup as though it held the secrets of the universe. Three of his fellow agents were at their desks. Jack shared an office with the three, their desks crammed into a too-small space that was meant for a single person. “Where y’at, Special Agent Niemczyk?” Agent Bowles said from the next desk. Jack had become used to the standard greeting used by many New Orleans natives. “I’m fine,” he answered. Bowles shook his head. “You look like shit, man.” Gary Bowles was contemporary with Jack, but looked every one of his forty-two years and then some. Balding and slightly paunchy, Gary had a friendly face and gregarious disposition. Right now, Jack wasn’t in the mood for his genial outlook. “I feel about the same,” he admitted. “I’d figure you were used to being woke up in the middle of the night, Special Agent,” Wilson said from the other side. Jack took a long drink of coffee and wondered why the Louisianans all liked to talk so much. Bowles was a native and Wilson had been here twenty years. If Jack stayed that long would he become an incessant talker as well? He prayed God to get him out of Louisiana soon. “I’m used to being awakened at all hours, but I never got to sleep. I was up working all night.” “Yeah? Doin’ wha’?” Agent Calzonetti asked. Jack had originally assumed the man was from Brooklyn based on his thick accent. He’d been surprised to learn that Vinnie Calzonetti was a native of Greater New Orleans, born and raised in Chalmette just like his father before him. Jack never imagined the same ethnic mix that created the classic Brooklyn accent had settled in Louisiana and produced a nearly identical accent here in the Deep South. He now knew the denizens of Chalmette, the Ninth Ward, and the Irish Channel all sounded like they’d be more at home on the Hudson than on the 44
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Mississippi. This city was one big contradiction, he’d decided. “Like the rest of you, I was in Algiers half the night, but before that Remy Lambert dragged me off to Fat City to meet someone called the Master and that took…” “You met the Master?” Wilson interrupted. “The Master?” Jack shrugged. He was too tired to care how still the rest of the room had become. “Yes. So this Alec invites us to have a drink and next thing I know we’re sitting there drinking beer and eating seafood and Lambert is practically licking this biker’s boots.” His colleagues exchanged cautious glances. Wilson nodded to Vinnie Calzonetti, who stood quietly. Bowles shivered slightly. “Back up! You had drinks with the Master?” He swallowed, looking as if he wasn’t sure if he should be terrified or jealous. He moved to sit on the edge of his desk. “The Master asked you to have a drink with him? Aw man.” Jack nodded, mildly surprised by his colleagues’ reactions. “Yeah, he did. Like I was saying, Lambert—” Calzonetti jerked the blinds open behind Jack, flooding the Chicagoan’s desk with bright sunlight. He spun Jack’s chair so the light was directly on his face. Jack blinked in the brightness, much to the relief of his co-workers. “He’s alive!” Wilson crowed. Jack looked at them. “What the hell is wrong with you, man? Is everyone in this city crazy? What was that all about?” “Your friends were just checking to see if you’re still alive, agent,” Baby said from the cool shadows of the doorway. Her face was set in uncompromising lines and a pair of blue sunglasses were perched halfway down her aquiline nose. She leaned negligently against the doorframe, her arms crossed. “As if Alec would be interested in turning you,” she sniffed. The rest of his team nearly tripped over themselves standing to acknowledge the presence of the Master’s lady while Jack remained 45
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seated. He sighed. He didn’t want to see her today. Well, at least she wasn’t in her working clothes. Of course, the deep red business suit she wore was cut low and the skirt was far too short. It also clung indecently. “What do you want? Baby, isn’t it?” And what the hell kind of name was that for a grown woman? Did she need to advertise that she was a hooker? She looked down at the plastic ID badge hanging from his lapel. “Yes, it is, John Patrick.” The stress she placed on his name annoyed him further. “It’s Jack,” he said just because he felt like being contrary. “No one calls me John.” He sighed before asking again, “What do you want?” “Who’s the head of this little team of yours, Jack?” she demanded in a softly threatening voice. “I need to have words with him.” “Well, I suppose that would be me,” Jack answered. “This is going to be fun,” Baby said. She looked at the men gathered together near the sunny window. “You remind me of sheep huddled away from a wolf. Well, I can certainly show you the wolf today. I’m definitely in the mood for a little fang-baring. Now, you boys might want to go sit down.” She grinned slowly and Jack saw ripples of apprehension on the faces of at least two of the agents. “If you think that little patch of sunlight can even slow me down, well, you need to rethink that.” She strode past them, lowered the shade, and planted herself in front of Jack’s desk faster than their eyes could follow her. The tiniest wisp of smoke rose from one pale hand where the sunlight had kissed her. Calzonetti stared at it, transfixed. Wilson swallowed loudly before saying, “No one meant any disrespect, Lady Roxton.” “Really?” She turned her eyes on him and Jack thought he saw yellow flash in their golden depths. Wilson sat down heavily in his chair. “That’s an interesting choice of words, ’cause, you see, I’m here to talk about disrespect.” She pulled a document from her purse and 46
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slapped it on the desk blotter. “What the hell do you think you were doing sending police to Alec’s house?” she grated. Jack picked up the papers. A quick glance told him what they were. “This is a search warrant.” “Oh, fuck,” Calzonetti muttered. “Someone tried to serve a search warrant on the Master?” Baby leaned across the desk, her attention firmly focused on Jack Niemczyk. “Last night you sat at Alec’s table, eating his food and drinking his liquor, and today you send men to search his house? I don’t call that honorable. I don’t call that respectful. I call that damned insulting.” Jack could have sworn her eyes were changing. They were an unusual shade of hazel, more properly yellow than anything else, but it had to be some strange trick of the light that made them look as though they were beginning to glow. “Now, I take insults to Alec real serious. I won’t see him slighted. I’ll take heads if I need to. You might want to move away from that blind, agent.” She never moved her eyes from Jack’s as she called attention to Vinnie Calzonetti’s hand fingering the cords to the window blind. “The Master will be a bit perturbed if I get sunburned.” The Italian snatched his hand away. “I, I didn’t… I wouldn’t…” He stumbled over his own tongue in his haste to explain he meant her no harm. He turned sickly pale. “See that you don’t,” she snarled. “Course, I’m only this far…” She held her forefinger and thumb less than an inch apart. “From just killing you all because I’m so pissed off.” She was trembling she was so angry. Bowles crossed himself again and began to mutter a “Hail Mary.” Baby growled and turned to face him with her lips pulled back from her teeth. He scrambled around, putting the desk between himself and the enraged woman. “I’m sorry. Lady Roxton, please. I’m sorry,” he breathed. 47
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Jack swung his feet off his desk, his shoes hitting the floor with a thump. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He’d had all he intended to put up with. She ignored him, still focused on Bowles. “You should be. You should all be sorry. And ashamed. After all Alec’s done for you, for this town, you treat him like this?” She took in all of the agents in her diatribe. “How dare you! You know what it was like before he came here! You remember how it was. Bodies of innocent young things with their throats ripped out. Whole sections of the city you didn’t dare go into after dark. Alec changed that. Do you honestly think the drop in violent crime is due to Pennington’s or Compass’ reigns as Police Chief? Alec has been keeping this city safe for fifteen years! At no small risk to himself! Alec and our children are out there every night risking their existence for you sheep. And this is the thanks he gets?” She snatched up the search warrant and waved it at the agents. “You ungrateful, sniveling, little bastards!” She grabbed a cup from a desk and flung it against a wall, where it shattered. Jack started to stand, but Vinnie placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. “No, don’t,” he whispered. “You don’t know what could happen if you upset her.” Jack couldn’t stand without engaging in an undignified scuffle with his fellow agent. He allowed Calzonetti to hold him in place for the time being. “Upset her!” Baby whirled on the Italian. “I’m way beyond upset, boy.” “Oh, shit,” Vinnie muttered in fear. “I forgot that her kind’s supposed to be able to hear a pin drop from a block away,” he whispered to Jack. “Then maybe it’s time you boys had a refresher course in exactly who and what my kind is,” she snarled at him. “In case you’ve forgotten, Alec de Leon rules south Louisiana. Alec owns this fucking city. That means that everyone in it, human or not, belongs to him to do with as he pleases. He is your lord and master. That means if he wants 48
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tribute then you pay it. That means if he wants to be mayor then you give him the title and an office at City Hall. That means if he wants to have sex with your wives, sons, and daughters then you dress them up pretty before you bring them to him. It means you do whatever the fucking hell Alec wants you to do, without question or protest.” She advanced a couple of steps on the trembling Bowles. “It also means that if he wants me to open the levee and flood this goddamned city, I ask him how deep he wants the water to get!” Her voice rose until she was nearly shouting. She flung another cup against the wall, the pens and pencils Bowles kept in it scattering across the floor. “You’re just damn lucky that he’s not that kind of man. Has he ever asked any of that of anyone? Has he?” The agents all shook their heads with the exception of Jack Niemczyk, who glared up at her. If Vinnie Calzonetti didn’t have a restraining hand on both of Jack’s shoulders, he’d have tossed her ass into the nearest cell by now. “Damn right he hasn’t. Because Alec de Leon is a good man. Instead of visiting death and terror on you all—as would be his right— he protects you! Do you have any idea how many times he’s saved this city from destruction? Any idea how many lives he’s saved?” Wilson was brave enough to answer. “We know we’re lucky to have Lord de Leon as Master, ma’am. We know he’s not like the others. We know we owe him.” “You’ve got one damn funny way of showing it, then!” she growled. “Alec keeps you all safe in your cozy little beds at night and all he asks in return is to be left alone. All he wants is a little peace and quiet. All he asks for is a little respect!” She spun back to Jack and placed her hands palm-down on his desk, leaning across the surface so her face was scant feet from his. Calzonetti released Jack and backed up. “I’m sorry, Jack. I don’t know you well enough to die for you,” he whispered. Baby ignored him. She was focused on Jack. “And you send men to 49
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search his house! You mother-fucking son of a bitch!” Jack stood and matched her stance, leaning forward across the desk until his face was only an inch from hers. He’d had enough and his temper matched hers. “I didn’t send anybody anywhere. And I’ve…” Her tiny hand clamped onto his jaw with bruising force. He had never imagined that any woman could be so strong. “If you didn’t send them, who did?” she hissed. He had that impression of her eyes flashing with yellow fire again. “I did.” Baby released Jack, flinging him back against the wall hard enough there was a resounding smack as his head connected with the drywall. Jack slumped down, half-senseless. She growled and turned to the door. She obviously recognized the man standing there. “Well, well. If it isn’t Mr. Assistant-Assistant District Attorney Burns. Or whatever the Hell your title is. How you doing, Johnnyboy?” she asked with an unpleasant smile. “Still trying to suck your way up the career ladder?” John Corwin Burns’ face hardened. He was a youngish man, wellenough looking, with mousy brown hair, sharp hazel eyes, regular features, and a too-broad mouth. His tailored suit was immaculate and his tie was the height of current fashion for the legal set. Jack didn’t particularly like Burns. The lawyer brown-nosed too much for Jack to have any respect for him. There was something about his continually pursed lips Jack found distasteful. Those lips were tight with anger now. “Still putting murdering punks like your boyfriend behind bars,” Burns said. She laughed. “You plan to arrest Alec? Now that I’d love to see.” She sat down on the edge of Jack’s desk. “Don’t you know you can’t arrest dead men?” Her smile was lopsided and full of arrogance. It set Burns’ hackles up even more than it did Jack’s. Burns walked up to her fearlessly. “I don’t care that you’re the Queen of New 50
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Orleans. I’m not afraid of you.” He stopped in front of her. “I may not be able to arrest him, but there are plenty in that den of yours I can take down. And I will. I can make it so hot for him he has to leave town.” Her grin spread and she started to laugh softly. The sound of her laughter grew and grew until it rang through the room and out into the hall. Oddly, it eased Jack’s headache. “Oh, lord,” she gasped, trying to catch her breath. “Alec’ll make guitar strings out of your guts, boy.” She wiped her eyes. “Hell, the Master won’t have to lift a finger. The children and I will do it for him.” He whipped out a tiny cross and she flinched, but didn’t back away. She reached out a hand and wrapped it around the small relic, curling her lip as smoke rose from her fist. Jack could smell burned flesh. Burns released it and she flung it across the room. “That might make me uncomfortable, but it won’t mean shit to Alec. He’d just laugh at it. Your crosses and holy water won’t even faze him. Your wooden stakes won’t hurt him. Hell, even the noonday sun doesn’t much bother Alec. He’s old and strong and he has charms you’ll never get through. You can’t touch him.” “I’ll find a way,” Burns snapped back. She looked into his muddy green eyes. “You got a death wish, John? You don’t need Alec if that’s the case. I can satisfy that, you know.” She pulled her pistol from the back of her waistband and placed it at his stomach. “You up for that?” Jack wondered briefly how the hell she had gotten a gun into a Federal building, but the way everyone kowtowed to her, she probably had walked it right past Security while they smiled and bowed. Fuck, his jaw hurt nearly as much as the back of his head. What the hell was going on, anyway? Why wasn’t anyone trying to stop her? He’d stand up and take care of her himself just as soon as the room stopped spinning and he no longer felt like he might heave his guts out onto the floor if he moved. 51
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She thumbed back the hammer on the revolver. “You inconvenienced Alec. You disturbed his rest today. You disrespected him. I don’t take kindly to that. I kill people who are disrespectful toward him.” To his credit, Burns didn’t back down, though Jack could see the sheen of perspiration on his forehead and practically smell the taint of fear-sweat on him. “He’s nothing but a cold-blooded mass murderer. Why should we respect him?” John Burns sneered. “We respect him because he’s saved everyone in Greater New Orleans more than once.” Margaret Lambert strode confidently into the room with her husband a couple of steps behind her. Remy was furious, his color running high and his gray eyes full of fire. “Lady Roxton, I would appreciate it if you didn’t kill my prosecuting attorneys,” Margaret said to Baby in a firm but friendly voice. “Mrs. Lambert,” Baby acknowledged, still not shifting her attention from Burns. “Do you know what he did?” The Chief Prosecuting Attorney for the Investigative Division of the DA’s office nodded. She was a tall, strong-featured woman with ashbrown hair and snapping brown eyes. She was utterly professional in her dress and demeanor and as opposite a personality from her husband as Jack could possibly imagine. He’d been surprised to discover they were high school sweethearts. “Yes, I do. However, allow me to assure you that the DA’s office had no knowledge of Mr. Burns’ acts until Captain Lambert brought it to our attention a few minutes ago.” Margaret was quietly enraged with her subordinate; it showed on her face. “Be assured, ma’am, there is more than one directive floating about the DA’s office concerning the way the Master and the members of his pride should be treated. And Mr. Burns has ignored them all.” The glare she sent in his direction promised he was going to pay for this. “Please allow me to extend the fullest apologies of the District 52
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Attorney’s office to you and Lord de Leon. The search warrant will be revoked and all mention of it expunged from the departmental records. We realize the Master is a great asset to our community. I’m sure a written apology from the DA will be forthcoming.” Baby grinned. “I don’t care about the letter, but Alec might get a giggle out of it. And don’t worry about the search warrant. The Master’s having a little talk with the judge who issued it. I don’t think it will happen again.” She moved her gun to a point under Burns’ chin. “But this isn’t the first time this piece of shit has tried to interfere with us. I don’t know why he’s jonesing so hard for Alec and I don’t care. I want him gone. I want him off your payroll.” Her lips still held their grin, but her golden eyes were hard and unsmiling. Margaret nodded. “Done. I’d planned to fire Mr. Burns for insubordination anyway.” Burns made a noise of protest, but the back of Baby’s hand connected violently with his cheek at about the same time. Her slap sent him tumbling to the floor. Baby nodded. “Fair enough. Understand something, all of you. I won’t allow the Master to be inconvenienced in any way. I’ll kill anyone who disturbs him.” Margaret returned the nod. “I understand. It won’t happen again.” Baby returned her gun to the holster at the small of her back. “See that it doesn’t.” The unpleasant grin returned to Baby’s face and she addressed the FBI agents. “As for you, the next time you send someone to Alec’s house, they won’t be coming back. This morning it was a toss up there for a while as to whether I was gonna feed them to the grandchildren or just break every bone in their bodies. Lucky for them, Captain Lambert showed up. He managed to send them about their business. If they’d have been there much longer, I’d have had to kill them all. So you have Remy to thank for the fact that your little boys and girls are still in one piece.” She ripped the search warrant in half 53
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and tossed it onto the prostrate form of the former prosecuting attorney. “Bitch,” he snarled as he sat up. Remy punched Burns in the jaw before Baby had a chance to strangle him. The Master’s lady smiled at the policeman. “Mrs. Lambert, Captain, always a pleasure. You’re both welcome at la Maison du Rose any time,” she said, ignoring the members of the FBI. With a tiny nod she swept from the room. Jack looked around the room in disbelief. He’d either just witnessed the weirdest confrontation of his entire life or he was hallucinating. He knew without asking no one in the room would tell him what he wanted to know and he had to have answers. He also knew the only person who’d tell him the truth was the vicious redhead. From what he’d seen, she didn’t give a shit about secrets and she’d answer his questions just to prove to him what an idiot he was. Ignoring the pain in his head and the nausea in his stomach, he struggled to his feet and hurried after her. He stumbled a few times and needed the strong supporting arm of the wall more than once, but he caught up with Baby Roxton as she was climbing into the back of a limousine, its windows tinted nearly black. A huge chauffeur held an equally huge umbrella to protect her from the sun. Jack shouted incoherently as the man started to close the door. Baby stared at him from the shadowed interior of the car for a moment before nodding to the driver. “Get in,” she said to the FBI agent. Jack tumbled into the seat, the back of his head throbbing so badly he felt faint again. “What the hell just happened? Who are you people?” Baby smiled. “Come on, FBI, you look like a smart boy. Surely you’ve figured it out by now.” She grinned. “Jesus. Are you sure you’re not part of The X-Files, ’cause you sure have that willful denial thing down to an art form.” She laughed at the incredulity on his face. “What do you think happened?” Jack honestly didn’t know how to answer her question. “I’m not 54
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sure.” She pressed the intercom button and spoke to her bodyguard. “Tell the driver to take his time getting home, Jerod. I need to have a little talk with my friend here.” She looked at the FBI agent, taking in the lines of exhaustion and the confused look in his eyes. “I feel sorry for you, almost.” She sighed. “Let me help you along.” She smirked as though she was enjoying Jack’s confusion. “You saw Alec bite me last night. You spend an evening with us and suddenly your friends are putting you in beams of sunlight to see if you’re still alive. That piece of shit lawyer tries to burn me with a cross. We talked about stakes and holy water. What does all that sound like to you, Agent Niemczyk?” He shook his head. He didn’t want to admit the conclusion he’d reached based on those pieces of evidence. It was too outré. It was the sort of theory that earned you mandatory vacation time so you could de-stress. On the other hand, a vacation might be a good idea. He definitely needed to get away from New Orleans. “I don’t know.” She laughed again. “God, you must be channeling Dana Scully. Stakes, crosses, holy water, sunlight? I’m a vampire, FBI.” He simply looked at her. He’d spent his career dealing with people who had twisted their views of reality in ways that an ordinary person couldn’t begin to imagine. He’d heard far more troubling and shocking delusions. “I understand that you think you’re some sort of vampire, but such things don’t really exist.” That feeling of unease he’d experienced the night before returned as she smiled. “Really? Then how do you explain this?” He was staring into her golden eyes and saw the fire that began to glow in their depths. The trick of light he’d seen earlier in his office was amplified in the darkness of the limo. Saffron began to swirl deep in her irises, a whirlpool of incandescence sucking the hazel away until there was only the blazing glow left. The very bones of her face seemed to shift before him. Her brow changed, becoming delicately ridged. She 55
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wore her hair swept to one side and he could see the most subtle of points appear on her right ear. When she drew back her lips, her canines were long and pointed like the fangs of a cat. In fact, her whole aspect had become feline and inhuman. “Holy Mother of God!” Jack had never seen anything to compare with this. “This is what I really am,” she said. “See the truth, agent. Vampires are real. Demons are real. All those nasty monsters from your childhood nightmares are as real as you are.” There was a new resonance to her voice, a richness that hadn’t been there before. It was compelling. It drew him in. He wanted to hear her speak, wanted to feel that primal call surging through his gut again. He surprised her by reaching out a hand to touch her face. She allowed it. She sniffed gently. He didn’t know what for, but she quickly answered his unvoiced question. “You’re not the least afraid of me,” she said with a secretive smile. “I smell no fear at all. What I do smell is arousal.” Her smile grew just a bit. “Well now, this just got very interesting. Remy Lambert always smells a little terrified around me, but it seems you, Agent Niemczyk are a different breed of man. Do you like what you see, Jackie-boy?” she asked softly. “Never seen anything like me, have you?” He shook his head, though the action hurt. “I never have,” he agreed breathlessly. Her skin was smooth and flawless under his fingers. It felt soft and cool, pleasing to the touch. It seemed to him that her eyes glowed brighter. He touched the dainty ridges above her eyes, smoothing them with gentle fingers. He was gratified when she drew a long breath; she liked that. He filed that information away and smiled faintly. He trailed that same gentle touch down her cheek and toward the fangs that glinted pale in the dark interior of the limo. “Careful, agent,” she advised. “I do bite.” Jack’s arousal skyrocketed and she smiled broadly. “But then maybe you’d like that.” She slid close and sliced his tie open with a now-razor-sharp fingernail. 56
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“You really are a very handsome man if you don’t mind the buttoneddown type. And you do have the prettiest eyes, Jackie, all gray-green, and ringed with those long lashes.” She crooned gently. “I always have been a sucker for men with pretty eyes.” She popped the top three buttons of his oxford, seeming to like the way his breathing deepened and sped up. She stared at the bit of chest she had revealed. Jack had always been slightly vain about his looks and hadn’t allowed his body to soften with age; he was still trim and fit. “Nice. You feel just as good as you look,” she said when she slid her hand inside his shirt. She dropped her voice half an octave. “I’m not what I look like. I’m a monster, honey. A bloodsucking fiend from Hell. I kill people on a regular basis. And apparently, you’re something more than you first appear, too, Jackie.” He gasped as she raked her sharp talons through the generous sprinkling of hair on his chest. “I was created to kill humans like you. So how come you’re not screaming in fright, FBI? How come you like it?” She drew near, her demon face so close to his she had to be able to feel the heat of his breath. “There’s still no fear coming from you at all. But there is arousal.” She drew a deep breath, luxuriating in whatever she was sensing from him. “Oh, Jack, it just radiates from you in glorious bluegreen waves!” She leaned over and licked his exposed neck with a single swipe of her tongue. He shivered and she drew back with a chuckle. He was astonished he felt so deeply disappointed at her withdrawal. “I think we might get along really well after all,” she said and brought her lips back to his throat. This time he realized her tongue was slightly rough, like finegrained sandpaper against the sensitive skin of his neck. His body responded to that abrasive touch, heat flowing from her cool lips to settle in the pit of his stomach before spreading out in an electric tingle that set every nerve ending alight. The pain in his head and the 57
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disorientation it caused were all forgotten as he tangled his fingers in that absurd red hair and pulled her head up. He brought his lips to hers. He had to know what that rough tongue felt like against his own smoother one. He kissed her hungrily, ridiculously pleased when she opened her lips for him, letting him taste her and explore her mouth. He moaned from the intensity of it and she broke away. He looked at her with evident disappointment and need. She laughed softly again and drew his hand back to her face. She rubbed against his palm, reminding him of a cat again, before she drew his wrist to her lips. She pushed back his shirt cuff before licking the inside of his wrist, searching until he could feel his pulse against her tongue. She looked into his eyes, her own ablaze with demon fire and desire, and bit down hard. Jack flinched from the pain as her long fangs unerringly found the artery hidden beneath his tanned skin. He couldn’t take his eyes from the sight of her mouth latched onto his flesh. He felt her teeth withdraw slightly and then as she began to suck he felt an astonishing mental connection to her growing. Her pleasure, her satisfaction, he could feel them all. Her emotions fed into him as his blood flowed into her mouth. Never had he felt so close to another person. There was pure honesty in her need for him. It was uncluttered by artifice or deception. She simply wanted his blood and his desire. Incredible exhilaration and a need to be joined with her this way hit him. “Oh, God,” he breathed. “Please don’t stop.” He had never experienced anything comparable. He’d never felt anything this intensely before. It hurt, but it felt wonderful all at the same time. He felt something dark stirring and wasn’t sure if it came from her or from within himself. Her pleasure was actually somehow entwined with his own and her desire fed his. He felt drunk, intoxicated with the sensations and emotions. His head hurt, but that pain was nothing and meant nothing compared to the sheer desire that coursed through him. The need for her to continue was fire running through his 58
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whole being. He knew he was going to come any second. “Oh, please. Harder, please.” He could feel her grin against his skin. She complied with his wish, sucking harder. His heart pounded as if it wanted to force every corpuscle from his body into hers. He wanted to pump his life into her. The electricity that had shot through him earlier was now pulsing, gathering intensity, sending shocks of pure sensation from his wounded wrist to his groin. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anyone before. He jerked when her hand closed around him, squeezing and feeding that need as well. He’d been so intent on the sensations she was creating he hadn’t even felt her undo his pants. But now her grip was strong and her hand was cool around him adding to the sensory overload he was feeling. He cried out in release only seconds later, collapsing nearly unconscious. She caught him and eased him back onto the cushions of the limo. Smoothing a lock of sun-streaked hair from his forehead, she murmured and shushed him as he lay gasping in her arms. Raising his wrist to her lips again, she licked the wound closed and kissed him gently, her lips now warm with his blood. Spent, he simply lay in her embrace letting her pet him with soft hands cool against his overheated body. After securing Jack’s address, she directed her driver to his apartment. Minutes later, he found himself tumbling onto his own bed, not entirely sure how he had gotten there or what the events of the past hour would mean in the long run. Unable to grasp the full import of what had happened and drained in more ways than one from the events of the last thirty-six hours, he fell into an exhausted sleep.
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CHAPTER 5 MEN OF LAW AND O RDER
New Orleans, Louisiana Thursday, 11:52 p.m. January 23, 2003 The killer settled back contentedly into the shadows and waited. He knew this was where he belonged. The darkness comforted him. It was soothing. It hid the squalor and shabbiness of day. It hid the dirt and poverty. The night made everything clean. Only here did he feel at home any longer. Only the night made him welcome. He watched the people flowing past, unaware that Death was so close at hand simply observing them. They were pitiful sheep, of course, unaware of the wolf in their midst. John smiled at the metaphor. He’d have to add that to his journal. It pleased him to think of himself as a wolf. Yes, that was fitting. Wolves were noble creatures, true to 60
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their mates and their pack. It was proper that he be seen as a wolf. Like that most glorious of predators, he’d thin the herds of humanity of their unwanted, unneeded members. He’d take a few discards from the innumerable flocks of refuse that walked the streets of this debauched city. He’d cull the herd of a few prostitutes, a few beggars. He closed his eyes and felt the satisfying heft of the blackjack in his pocket. The leather was warm against his palm. He carried it with him constantly now, unable to feel comfortable without it on his person. It was necessary. Just as he was necessary. Predators were vital to the health of the herds they preyed on. Opening his eyes, he searched this herd for a perfect kill. There. His eyes followed a whore as she strolled past his hiding place. That one. On another night she’d be perfect. Mature but still healthy, her blood would be strong and filled with vitality. She’d taste wonderful… He fingered the stitching on the handle of his blackjack. He anticipated the feel of it crashing into her skull, the brief resistance of the bone then the softness of the brain tissue absorbing the blow. It always felt so good. He never wanted to stop with that single blow. He wanted to hit and hit and hit again, pounding until there was nothing left of their heads but a bloody gray pulp. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t kill the women; he had to have living blood. Regardless of how much he wanted to, he couldn’t, yet. Soon, though, soon he’d be able to kill the way he wanted. Soon he’d be strong enough to kill as he pleased. He wouldn’t have to wait for the time to be right. Every night would be right. He could bathe in blood if he wanted to. He was almost ready for his ascension to that level of power. A few more lives, a few more months of following the ritual, and he would finally belong completely to the night. He watched the whore try to tempt a john to purchase her tainted favors, his lips curled in revulsion. Was there anything more disgusting than a prostitute? Was there any profession more reprehensible? 61
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The world at large should thank him for destroying those diseased, unproductive limpets, for freeing society from those pitiable parasites. He protected the populace, didn’t he? Hadn’t he always? His life had been devoted to cleaning the streets of such refuse. He’d given his life, risked everything in the thankless pursuit of the public good. He accepted this was his duty, his purpose. If he was lucky enough to be able to gain immortality while performing his duty, then they, that great collective “they” out there, should simply be doubly thankful. Shouldn’t they be happy they would have his protection forever? Shouldn’t he be their hero, their saint? Finally, they’d know he was the one that kept them safe at night. He was the true guardian of their safety. It was passed time they realized his true worth. John smiled and slipped further into the darkness. Yes, he would be society’s protector forever. And they would finally venerate him for it. *
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New Orleans, Louisiana Friday, 10:00 p.m. January 24, 2003 Jack Niemczyk took a sip of bourbon and stared out from the lightless room at the gentle rain. It cascaded in soft sheets, its pale, silken drapes stirred and whirled by tiny gusts and eddies of wind. The rain darkened the night and made it glisten. It whirled and gurgled against the curbs as it sought drains and channels, longing to find a path to the Gulf. It washed away the debris and refuse that clung to New Orleans, flushing it into the river, the Mississippi cleaning the city as it always had. Tomorrow would dawn with a clarity today had lacked. Jack wished the swirling waters could wash his mind as easily and bring him that same clarity. His fingers stole unconsciously to his wrist and worked at the small scabs there. A too-rough touch sent a slight stab of pain through the wound and a stab of desire straight to his loins. 62
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He worried the scab a bit more, locked in the memory of her teeth piercing his skin, of the indescribable sensations that had flowed and crashed through him. He wanted to feel that rush of pained pleasure again. He wanted to feel his blood flowing from his body into hers. He wanted to experience that touch of darkness and death. He could almost feel her cool lips pressed to his skin, could almost see her white fangs. The memory of their sharpness cutting into his flesh sent a burst of electricity through him. But was it truly a memory? Only the healing wounds on his wrist showed it wasn’t some fevered dream, some invention of his fractured imagination. The wounds were real. Still, his intellect rejected the reality of it. Vampires couldn’t exist. It went against every tenet he’d been taught. It went against every personal belief he had. Vampires, werewolves, ghosts, they were all just amusing fictions, believed in only by the gullible and the uneducated. He was neither. He had to have hallucinated the entire incident. There was no other rational explanation. He’d sustained a substantial blow to his head. He’d been half-unconscious and possibly suffering from a mild concussion. He’d somehow injured his wrist and had concocted an impossible scenario from the depths of his injured brain to explain the wound. He couldn’t have been bitten by a vampire. It simply wasn’t within the realms of the possible. He watched a curtain of rain sweep across the street like the skirts of a fallen woman. He sighed and considered asking for a transfer. He wanted to see the case through, wanted to see this murdering bastard caught, but he also wanted out of New Orleans. He hated the city, hated the smell of it, hated the sound of it, hated the very feel of it. He hated the way things were done here. He wanted away from the graft and under-the-table dealings. He wanted away from the constant party atmosphere that covered the aching poverty and misery. He wanted away from Remy Lambert and his smirks and his secrets. He wanted away from everything that reminded him he’d failed to catch a killer. 63
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The empty apartment around him resonated with his discontent. He wanted away from golden eyes that flashed with yellow fire. He never wanted to look into their wolven depths again. He wished she were there right now. He took another drink of the whiskey. Its smooth fire burned down his throat and settled molten and heavy in his stomach. It didn’t warm him; it simply accentuated the coldness inside him. The winter rain continued to fall unrestrained by his thoughts, chill as the coldness within him. He felt her. Somehow, he simply knew she was there. He turned his head slightly and a gentle, cool hand ran along his jaw and he could smell the intoxicating scent of her perfume rising from her wrist. “Hello, Jackie,” she whispered. “Missed me?” The drawl was unmistakable, pure Gulf Coast at its Daughters of the Confederacy best. It made his heart race. He turned a bit more and that cool hand wrapped around his jaw, pressing into the bruise it had created three days earlier. Pain, dull and insistent, bloomed beneath her fingers. It throbbed in time with his pulse, each throb in his jaw sending a corresponding throb into his groin. “Ooo, you like that,” she crooned. Those delicate steel fingers pressed a bit harder and Jack couldn’t contain a gasp of pleasure as a sharper pain shot though his jaw. “Oh, you are just full of surprises, Jackie-boy,” she breathed and leaned in to blow cool breath across his cheek. He shivered. This, this was what he needed to dispel the coldness in his gut. This was what he needed to send fire coursing through his body, warming him finally. Without preamble or warning, he turned and grabbed her, pulling her roughly to him and grinding his mouth against hers. She answered with a need as insistent as his. Her lips were rough and aggressive, her tongue thrusting into his mouth, seeking to dominate and subdue his. He fought back, pushing his own tongue into her mouth, grunting and nearly snarling with the effort. She broke 64
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contact long enough to smile at him before assaulting his mouth once more. Her teeth seemed too sharp and he nicked his tongue on their razor edge, drawing blood. As the taste of it whirled across her tongue, she growled and wrapped her legs around his waist. He staggered a bit from her sudden weight, but had no real difficulty in carrying her to his bed and flinging her down on his disheveled sheets. He dove atop her and began tearing at her clothing even as she shredded his shirt in her haste to undress him. There was no hint of love or tenderness involved in this. There was only raw, unrelenting need and desire. He sought to dominate her, to subdue her, but she would have none of it. With superior strength, she flipped him onto his back and pinned his hands to his chest with one of hers. He had torn the dress she wore and it hung ragged from her shoulder, revealing one pale breast, its nipple dark and peaked already. He wanted to suckle it. He wanted to bite it until she screamed for him to stop. He wanted to hurt her until she begged him to never stop. He wanted her to return the favor. She ripped the light sweats he wore and he kicked the tatters away. She freed his hands and he immediately completed his destruction of her dress. She wore nothing underneath and he couldn’t help but smile. He grabbed her again, pressing his nakedness against hers, raining rough kisses on her body. They rolled and grappled, somewhere between embracing and brawling, each trying to assert their strength and will over the other. Inhuman and demonic, her strength was greater and she used it to claim her dominance, to literally bend him to her will. Trapping him beneath her, she slammed herself onto him, joining them as she snarled and her face morphed from mortal to vampire. At the sight, he cried out, a call of desire and want. Her knees dug into his ribs hard enough to leave bruises. She growled and snarled, her fangs like those of a saber cat, her brow delicately ridged and leonine. 65
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She was everything he remembered and more. “Oh, God! You’re beautiful,” Jack gasped as he gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, creating bruises of his own. She roared, a sound unlike any he’d ever heard, and dropped onto him like a hunting puma, sinking those long teeth into the junction of his neck and shoulder. Jack screamed in pain and joy, his ecstasy seeming to last as long as she pulled and sucked his life’s blood. When she lifted her head and stared at him, licking his blood from her lips, he shattered into a secondary orgasm. He fell back onto the pillows, exhausted, drained, and replete. Staring up at her, he watched the planes of her face remold themselves into the human, into the normal, but he now knew that the beast lurked just below the surface of her golden eyes. He’d never be able to look at her without seeing the vampire. And he desired the vampire above anything or anyone he’d ever desired before. Baby stared down at him, satiated, and grinned a wicked, crooked grin. “Now, you are just full of surprises, FBI,” she drawled. From the comfort of his now thoroughly rumpled bed, Jack watched her pull on one of his few t-shirts. “How’d you get in?” She turned to him and grinned. He couldn’t help remembering the way her teeth looked and felt when they changed. A quiver of desire ran through him. “You invited me in two days ago when we dropped you off. I can come and go now anytime I please,” she said. He looked confused. Her grin broadened. “Time for your first lessons in the demonic world, sweetpea. Be careful who you ask into your home. Vampires and some other demons can only enter if you invite them in but once you do, you can’t keep them out. So from now on, don’t invite anyone in unless you know them well or I’ve okayed it.” He stared at her and then frowned. “What do you mean, okayed it?” She sat down beside him on the bed and placed her hand over the 66
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wound she’d just made on his neck. “This is a claim mark, Jackie. It does a lot of things.” She traced it with a finger and he felt himself growing hard, sensation flowing from the injury straight to his sex. She licked her lips as she smelled his arousal. “It can make you feel all hot and bothered,” she smirked and continued to stroke the bite mark, sending those delicious stabs of pain and pleasure rocketing through his body. “It keeps you safe. Any other vampire seeing and scenting that knows you’re mine and they’ll leave you alone. There aren’t many in this city that will risk upsetting me. It lets me feel you and keep track of you. It will let you feel me to a much lesser degree. And it shows you belong to me.” He propped himself up on one elbow and ran his hand up her leg. How could he not have noticed how pale she was, how her chest didn’t move except when she spoke because she didn’t breathe? How could he have ignored the obvious? But then, it was only obvious if you knew and believed in the impossible. He focused on her last statement. “You said that before—that I belong to you. What do you mean?” He ran his hand over the inside of her thigh boldly, not stopping until he reached the juncture with her other leg. He stroked and petted until she opened her legs more for him. She drew a deep breath, pleased beyond measure at his actions. Her thought was clear in his mind—Who would have thought that oh-soproper, buttoned-down exterior hid so much passion? “I meant exactly what I said. You belong to me now. I own you. In vampire terms, you’re my Pet.” He frowned. “Your pet? I’m not sure I like that.” Her smile was wicked and hinted at debaucheries unknown. “Oh, you will, Jackie. You will. I’ll take really good care of you.” She leaned toward him, wrapping her hand around him, stroking him to complete hardness. His fingers were insistent against her, communicating his growing want. “And you’re gonna be really good to me. I can tell.” She leant over and kissed him deeply. He grasped the t-shirt, pulling 67
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it over her head and tossing it away. He grabbed her hips and pulled her over him, rolling her until she lay beneath him, her legs out-flung, leaving her open to him. “Oh, yeah,” she breathed. “You’re gonna be really good to me.” She smiled that lopsided, crooked smile that had once irritated him so and now made him want to kiss her. “Hurt me, Jackie, if you can. See if you can make me scream.” He laughed, a rich, pleased sound, as he slid inside her. “Oh, I can do that. In fact, I’d love to do that.” He thrust hard and deep, at the same time biting down on that plum-brown nipple hard enough to draw blood. As her blood, cool and intoxicating, tingled across his tongue, he smiled. Her eyes were already sparking with yellow fire.
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CHAPTER 6 JOURNEY INTO D ARKNESS
New Orleans, Louisiana Monday, 11:43 a.m. January 27, 2003 Jack Niemczyk was bored beyond description. The only thing worse than an all morning meeting was a lasts-all-morning-dragsthrough-lunch meeting. He’d had plans, plans that were now shot to hell. He tried to get comfortable in the chair he’d already sat in for far too long. It was impossible. He was miserable. It was hot in the conference room and he loosened his tie and undid the top button on his shirt. He smiled as Remy Lambert stared at him in shock. Jack had never been anything but completely precise in his dress the whole time Remy had known him. Remy had never seen Jack with his tie so much as 69
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rumbled and Jack was enjoying Remy’s surprise. “I’m not at all what you think I am, Lambert,” Jack thought with a concealed smile. Unlike a lot of profilers, there was no hint of the geek in Jack. For a man who spent most of his time buried in reports, research, and paperwork, Jack always looked remarkably classy. He knew Remy considered it one of his more irritating traits. Remy often swore that it wasn’t fair; Jack always looked far too calm and collected, even when sitting in some damn meeting for upwards of three hours or more. Jack would rather not have to bother, but it was amusing to annoy Lambert. Jack knew even with the top button of his shirt undone and his tie loosened, he looked crisp. Remy screwed his face up in disgust. Remy’s own tie had been discarded quite some time earlier and his shirt half unbuttoned. He’d loudly cursed whoever had decreed that offices be kept too hot in the winter and too cold in the summer. Jack had ignored him. Now Remy pushed his muffuletta away and sighed. Looked like Jack had managed to make Lambert lose his appetite. Jack smirked, but soon went back to being bored. He listened to the speaker drone on for a few more minutes and felt his eyes begin to glaze over. He hadn’t really heard or understood a word coming out of the man’s mouth for the last half-hour. How could Jack possibly care about the same explanation of the same forensic evidence he’d already heard over twenty times? There was nothing new. The last girl had died the same way as the twenty-two before her—blood loss. He’d already seen the body. He’d already read the reports. Twice. He would read them a dozen more times before the week was out. His head hurt just from thinking about it. He ignored the glares his boss directed at him. Special Agent in Charge John Marcus had been on Jack’s case for days now. At their first meeting, the two men had developed an instant dislike for each other. Marcus fit the typical just-the-facts-ma’am FBI agent stereotype. He was a good few inches shorter than Jack’s six-feet-two-inch height, 70
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but he carried himself like a tall man. He was also heavier with a stocky build and barrel chest that bespoke a good deal of strength. His swarthy coloring and dark eyes didn’t match well with the steel-gray of what little hair he had left and his heavy jaw gave him a permanently pugnacious air. Or maybe that was just Jack’s personal opinion coloring his perception. Jack thought Marcus was pompous, a manager’s manager with no real connection to his subordinates or the victims and public they served. He was the sort of agent Jack despised. Marcus in turn made it plain he thought Jack was an arrogant knowit-all seeking the glory of solving a big case and said as much. Jack smiled to himself. Marcus was half-right. Jack did want the glory of solving a big case. He liked being a winner. He’d built a hell of a reputation for taking down the UNSUBs no one else could find. He’d been reprimanded and praised, pilloried and lauded, sometimes all for the same case. But no one had ever been able to accuse him of backing off when he knew he was doing the right thing. He put his neck and career on the line every time he handed someone a profile. He had to have a certain amount of ego to do that over and over, to daily risk everything on what basically boiled down to his opinion on what an UNSUB was like. He also had to have a real connection with the victims and their families. Something had to drive that ego and in his case, it was the sometimes overwhelming need to help the people who had been hurt by whatever monster he was hunting, to keep anyone else from being hurt again. He’d lived his life as society’s protector, the man with the silver star pinned over his heart. He didn’t intend to let a cesspool like New Orleans be the town that tarnished that silver star. Marcus could glare all he wanted. Jack would figure out who this killer was and he’d lead the team that would take him down. The killings would stop here. He’d grab the glory and Marcus could eat shit and die for all Jack cared. Besides, Jack had more important things to think about than his current pain-in-the-ass boss or another useless meeting. This meeting 71
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might be vital to trying to find the Vieux Carré Vampire, though Jack seriously doubted it. It was mostly a waste of time and something for Marcus to point at to say his team was hard at work. But it all paled in comparison to what Jack had learned only days earlier. Magic was real; vampires were real. Unlike the UNSUB they were looking for who killed just because he wanted to, vampires really were out there somewhere killing someone because they needed to drink their blood to survive. He’d always known the monsters in the dark really did exist, but he’d always thought they were human. Now he knew differently. Monsters of the most classic sort were very real and his new lover was one. His lover. His vampire lover. Looking back at her now, he couldn’t believe he had missed so many clues, so many hints, that she was more than simply an aging streetwalker or a mobster’s whore. She had been right—he was willfully blind. But then, so was most of humanity. The irrational was not even judged a possibility in a rational world and Jack had always considered himself an extremely rational man. He’d spent a fair portion of his weekend simply thinking about what his new knowledge meant. His world had been reshaped. Everything was colored by this new understanding. And he only knew the barest facts about her and about vampires, the proverbial tip of the metaphoric iceberg. He longed to know more. He wanted to explore, dissect, and find out everything about them. He glanced at Remy Lambert. He’d have to find time to talk to the Cajun and find out what he knew about these fascinating creatures. Jack couldn’t help smiling. He had a new mystery to explore and nothing pleased and excited him more. He could also already see possibilities in more than a couple of unsolved cases; things that had seemed impossible at the time that now seemed not just possible but likely. A tiny, secretive smile appeared on his face. He’d have to ask Baby how to catch and prosecute monsters, and if you couldn’t prosecute them, how you could stop their predations. 72
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Thinking of monsters and the way they preyed on humanity, he suddenly wondered how many people she had killed. Tens? Hundreds? He knew he should be disgusted by the thought. Murderers always disgusted him. So how come he was getting hard thinking about her killing with those sharp, white fangs? He closed his eyes and shifted in his seat so that his fly applied delicious pressure just where he wanted it. Jack moved his head and his stiff, starched collar rubbed the stillraw bite mark on his neck. It felt good. It reminded him of what had happened while she put the wound there. She’d explained that regardless of what he felt she was doing, she was actually taking very, very little of his blood. She drank just enough to get them both off. He had to admit she did that rather spectacularly. The secretive smile returned. Maybe he should dodge the rest of the meeting and meet her for lunch as he’d planned. Of course, he imagined that he was listed as the dessert on her menu. That suited him just fine. To his deep surprise, he’d found he liked nothing better than having her bite him. It was the most erotic experience he’d ever had. He knew he should be worried that he felt that way, but somehow he just couldn’t manage to be. He was having too much fun. He’d never thought of himself as the least bit into the whole masochism thing, but he more than enjoyed the pain that she inflicted on him—-he loved it. He knew she could kill him as easily as she kissed him and it turned him on in ways he had never thought possible. She was stronger, more powerful than any woman he’d ever known. She was stronger than any man he’d ever known. She was simply unnatural. She was a monster, a demon, and a killer. He’d spent his entire adult life trying to stop killers. It was more than his job; it was his mission. He was supposed to track them down and lock them up forever. But now that he’d found the most vicious creature he’d ever seen, all he wanted to do was get her so hot and bothered that she begged him to fuck her. 73
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And God, did he want to fuck her! She was everything he despised in a woman—brazen, sarcastic, profane, overly bold, disrespectful of authority, and she dressed like a hooker. It just made him want to shove it in her all the more. He was beginning to obsess about it. All he could think of was how good it felt to be inside her, of how good it felt to hurt her, of how good it felt when she hurt him. And when her face changed, when he saw the killer, the monster revealed, he wanted nothing more than to plunge himself into that cold, lethal body. He had never seen anything more erotically beautiful than that bestial face. He had a sudden flash of intense desire and wondered what it would be like to have her go down on him with that beautiful, deadly face in place. The thought of her fangs in such close proximity to his manhood was intoxicating. He’d have to ask her if she’d do that the next time they were together. He could hardly wait. He didn’t even try to concentrate as the speaker droned on. Everything the man was saying was useless anyway. They’d have to catch some sort of a break to stop this killer. They were going to have to pray the bastard made a mistake. Until he did, they were all just spinning their wheels. The speaker droned on and on. Jack was intensely grateful when the moderator called a break. He headed straight for the men’s room thinking about the new turn his life had taken. He reconsidered his aborted lunch plans and grinned. He wasn’t helping the case one bit by sitting in that meeting. Nothing was being accomplished. He’d give Baby a call, see if she could still meet him at his apartment. If she could, he was about to become very ill and have to take the rest of the afternoon off. Remy was splashing water on his face as Jack joined him at the lavatory bar. “Trying to stay awake?” Jack asked rhetorically as he rolled his cuffs up to wash his hands. Remy’s gaze happened to fall on Jack’s wrist and his face paled as though what he saw made his blood turn cold in his veins. “What the 74
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hell?” He reached out and grabbed Jack’s wrist, pulling Jack around to face him. He stared in shock at the FBI agent. Then his gaze became fixed on Jack’s collar. Jack glanced at his reflection, trying to see what disturbed Lambert so. There in the mirror Jack could see a bright red dot on the pristine white cotton of his shirt. Remy pulled Jack’s shirt open a bit more, revealing the wound on Jack’s neck, and froze. “Mon Dieu! Are you crazy!” Jack couldn’t help but grin. “No, I think for once I’m completely sane.” “Not if you’re letting the Undead eat on you!” Remy exclaimed. “My God! What are you thinking?” Jack jerked his arm out of Remy’s grasp. “I’m thinking that you should have told me what the hell kind of people you were taking me to see!” Jack snarled, suddenly angry that Remy had taken that tone with him. It was the policeman who’d started all this, after all. Jack would never have heard of the Master or his woman if not for the Cajun. “I’m thinking you were too tied up in being cryptic to let me know what I was actually looking at!” Remy’s enigmatic statements and hidden agenda had led Jack to search for answers, answers that involved milkwhite skin that was always cool to the touch and ivory fangs buried in Jack’s willing flesh. “I’m thinking you’re an asshole.” Remy didn’t react to the agent’s anger. He was too shocked, too concerned by the puncture wounds on Jack’s wrist and neck. “What have you done? If you get killed by a vampire, it’ll be my fault.” Remy was nearly incoherent. “Who is it, heh? Which one put the mark on you? Who did it!” Jack was actually enjoying the detective’s discomfort. Remy had made Jack’s life hell for the last three months and Jack wasn’t above enjoying a little payback. “The redhead,” Jack grinned. “Jesus Christ! You and…” Remy crossed himself. “La Mère de Dieu!” 75
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Jack’s grin broadened. “You have no idea.” He finished washing up and unclipped his cell phone from his belt. “In fact, I have a lunch date. And I do mean date.” He dialed a number he had already memorized. While it rang, he smirked at the Cajun. “If she’s still free, I’m afraid I’m sick and will just have to spend the afternoon in bed.” He nearly laughed as Remy’s jaw dropped. Then he heard that unmistakable drawl as she answered the phone. “Hey. Are you still free?” he asked in a tone very different than the one he’d just used with Remy. “Good! My place? Yeah… I have something new I want to try… Oh yeah, it’s gonna be a lot fun. You’ll love it, Baby!” He grinned as Remy suddenly looked very, very afraid. There was something so dark and sensual in that grin that the Cajun’s shiver was visible and Jack could nearly feel the liquid ice flowing up Remy’s spine. He listened to the phone for a moment and his grin deepened. “I’m on my way,” he finally said and hung up. He shoved his notepad at Lambert. Remy grasped it by reflex. “I’m going home, Lambert. Tell anyone who asks I’m sick.” With that dark smile still in place and a swagger in his step, he left without another word. Remy looked after him, still clutching Jack’s notes to his chest. Just before the doors closed shut behind him, Jack heard Remy murmur, “Yeah, you’re sick all right. Sicker than you know.” *
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Algiers, Louisiana Tuesday, 8:19 p.m. January 28, 2003 Jack tried to put himself inside the mind of a monster. He took a deep breath and put thoughts of his afternoon tryst with Baby aside. He pushed away his memories of being inside the body of a demonic, inhuman killer and tried to put himself inside the mind of an all-toohuman monster instead. 76
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Tonight was time to concentrate on what he’d come to New Orleans for. Meetings weren’t going to find the man the media labeled the Vieux Carré Vampire. Bureaucratic posturing wasn’t going to find him. Figuring out what he wanted, determining how he lived, learning how he thought, that would lead him into the hands of the authorities. Figuring out what made him tick would lead him right into Jack’s waiting arms. It was time to shove away all the bullshit surrounding this case and catch a killer. This was what Jack had been educated for, what the government paid him to do. Jack was an expert in the field of profiling, that highly introspective art of describing a killer and predicting his actions from his behavior and the tiny clues he left. Like the other profilers of his generation, Jack had been lucky enough to be there as their vocation was solidifying. He’d been trained by some of the founders of the profession. He’d learned from the best and as a result, he’d become the best. You weren’t asked to work for John Douglas unless you showed some real talent. And you didn’t last as a part of his team unless you were good at what you did. Jack was good. He’d been a profiler for over fifteen years. And he enjoyed the job. It was rewarding work, often exciting and mentally challenging, but Jack had needed more. The one thing he’d hated about being a profiler was he never caught the killer. Someone else always did that. His job had been and in many ways still was to provide a tool for finding the criminal, for letting the men and women of the various police departments around the country have what they needed to apprehend their UNSUB. It was vital work, necessary for the apprehension of the inhuman monsters they sought, but he never got to look the killer in the eye and see that moment when the beast knew he’d been cornered. That closure was denied him. To find that resolution he’d twisted his career away from what was a sure path to promotion and status. He’d walked away from teaching and administration. He’d gone back into fieldwork, paring out a place 77
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for himself heading up task forces formed to find the most elusive, most violent of serial criminals. No longer just a describer of murderers and rapists, Jack now actively and successfully hunted what he studied. And success always came down to his ability to crawl inside the mind of a monster. This particular monster eluded him. He stared at the spot by the grimy wall where the body of the latest victim had lain and tried to recreate it all in his head. He’d been here earlier in the day, when the sun was out, to see what it looked like. He’d then waited until the sun had long set and returned. Crime scenes looked different in the light and the dark. Jack wanted to see it the way the killer would have seen it. He knew the body hadn’t been dumped in the daylight; it had been done after dark. This killer was careful, meticulous. He wouldn’t risk driving around in the daylight with a body in his vehicle looking for a place to rid himself of it. Jack placed his hand on the wall, willing the rough surface to give up its secrets. Its grit and grime clung to his palm, biting and abrasive as he rubbed his hand across the bricks. Why dump the body here? What made this spot preferable to any other? Jack closed his eyes and tried to climb into the car with the killer, put himself in the driver’s seat, inside the perpetrator’s body. He could see the woman’s body, slumped in the passenger seat, covered with something dark. The murderer had already selected his dumping grounds. He had a selection of them already picked out around the city. If there were activity near his preference du jour, he’d simply move on to the next one. Inside his mind, Jack looked down at the steering wheel. He tried to see the car more clearly. It was something big. An ego like this killer had wouldn’t be happy with an economy car. An SUV. He drove an SUV. He’d want to show off his status and accomplishments to everyone he passed. And it would be easier to transport a dead or unconscious woman in a big SUV than a smaller car. 78
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Jack could visualize it clearly now. He’d pulled into the alley, opened the passenger door, grabbed the covering, and simply pushed her out. The body had tumbled out and landed against the wall. He’d just driven away. He’d never even had to get out of his car. But again, why this alley? Jack opened his eyes and looked around him, turning nearly a complete circle. One thing stood out immediately—there were no windows on the walls lining the alley and no taller building with windows overlooking it. Jack had already discovered that the alley was seldom used after four o’clock in the afternoon. There would be little or no traffic through here before six the next morning. There were fourteen hours when this alley was completely deserted. There was no one to see the killer leave the body. No witnesses. This killer was very smart and very organized. Jack ran a hand over the ragged head of a tall weed, absently petting the plant as if by so doing he could coax it to tell him what had happened here. There was no face staring back at him in the imaginary rearview mirror yet. Only the weeds and bricks could have seen the man who deposited Amy Villar’s mortal remains so coolly and they couldn’t tell Jack who the killer was, what he looked like. He squatted and placed his hand on the hard-packed shells where her body had lain and thought of how it and the bodies of the other women had been found. Unclothed, no belongings, no jewelry, tossed haphazardly, left however they fell; they had no meaning, no further value to their assassin. There was no careful placement of their limbs, no posing. The bodies meant nothing to him. They were simply refuse to be disposed of. If the bodies weren’t important, then was it the hunt, the stalking that excited the killer? Jack didn’t think that was entirely the case, though he had no doubt the bastard got a good jolt out of it. Everything pointed to this killer taking whatever victim was available. He wasn’t after any particular person. For all the highly organized traits this UNSUB possessed, he was very much an opportunist. So it wasn’t the 79
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hunt that excited him so much. It was the kill. Jack stood and dusted his hand on his handkerchief, the residue of enigmatic death clinging to the white cloth. He pictured Amy Villar’s body and placed himself briefly in her mind. She’d felt nothing beyond a flash of pain when her slayer’s bludgeon had impacted the back of her head. She hadn’t faced a long and torturous death. Jack had placed himself in the minds of enough victims who had faced that to know that Amy had been a very soft kill. That alone told Jack a great deal about her murderer. For some killers, the murder itself was almost anticlimactic. They reveled in the terror and helplessness of their victim. They got high on the control factor. They wanted their chosen ones to beg and plead and cry. Others lived for the hunt, laughing at how easy it was to get close to someone, to pluck them from their imagined safety and hurl them into death. Others wanted to show their superiority to the police. They imagined themselves better than the trained hunters. They would send taunting messages and leave cryptic clues to show how smart they were. But not this one. His victims had all been rendered unconscious immediately. The Master had been right—none of them had shown any signs of a struggle. They’d died in their injury-induced sleep. The police, media, religious leaders—no one had been contacted by their assailant. He simply yanked women from the streets, stripped them of their clothes, identity, and humanity, then killed them with clinical coldness and dumped their discarded bodies like empty gum wrappers. Even the mutilation, the slashing of their throats, was impersonal. He was doing it to distract, to hide something. It was just a half-assed bit of staging. Still, Jack knew in his gut there was something about the kill itself that excited this bastard. If Jack could just figure that out, he’d be a long way on the path to finding the fucker. And Jack would do whatever it took to find the bastard. Jack hated 80
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this serial killer more than any murderer he’d ever chased. The sheer callousness of this UNSUB infuriated Jack. The remoteness, the aloof superiority evident in these slayings made Jack grind his teeth and order triple bourbons to wash the bitterness from his mouth. He looked around the alley one last time and swore that somehow he’d catch this son of a bitch or die trying.
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CHAPTER 7 THE GHOST AND THE D ARKNESS
New Orleans, Louisiana Thursday, 2:56 p.m. January 30, 2003 So his new hunter thought he had a chance of stopping the Vieux Carré Vampire. John sniffed in disdain as he took a sip of his coffee. Did that ineffectual, jumped-up psychologist think he’d have any chance of understanding John? Did he honestly think he could capture such a superior being? The arrogance of the man! John’s lips curled into a sneer. Niemczyk wasn’t even a real policeman. He was a wanna-be headshrinker. How dare he even consider the possibility of comprehending anything about someone who was so far above him? It was pathetic. The killer stared down at the pavement as his anger grew, hiding his 82
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face from the people around him. A line of ants moved purposefully over the sprinkling of snowy powdered sugar on the concrete. They mindlessly trudged away to their bed hidden beneath the lush shrubbery that surrounded the Café du Monde. They reminded John of the detectives working to catch him, as mindlessly shuffling their reports back and forth as the ants shuffled their grains of sugar. As a cold wind blew across Jackson Square, the plants rustled against the iron rail where John was leaning. He settled his elbow more comfortably on the rail and let his rage at Jack Niemczyk warm him. The sheer ego and gall of the man! For Niemczyk to believe he was worthy of pursuing John was a joke. It was beyond laughable. The FBI’s finest… Bullshit! He was a publicity-seeking toad, a bug whose pretensions John would squash with no more consideration than he would show to a real insect. John looked down at the ants and brought his foot crashing down on them, grinding them beneath his sole, ending their tiny, pathetic lives. He smiled and murmured, “Then again, maybe I’ll show him even less.” *
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New Orleans, Louisiana Thursday, 6:45 p.m. January 30, 2003 Jack downed his second double bourbon and wondered why the hell he even bothered to try. He’d had yet another confrontation with his superior officer. How was he supposed to solve a case when that man gave him absolutely no support? He was thoroughly sick of SAC Marcus. Jack often worked under hostile conditions. It wasn’t unusual for the people he was trying to help to feel threatened by or antagonistic towards him. He was the perpetual outsider coming in to show them what they were doing wrong. Or so they often thought. It had gotten 83
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better over time. The leaders of the old Investigative Support Unit had worked long and hard to prove to they really were a support unit, simply there to help. Jack missed that name sometimes. It was a good description of what he did. Child Abduction and Serial Killer Unit sounded colder and more threatening somehow. Maybe that was it. Maybe his temporary boss felt Jack was here to take over. Whatever. Jack didn’t know what Marcus’ problem was and he’d about reached the point where he didn’t care either. John Corwin Burns was just as bad. If there was ever a supercilious waste of Jack’s time, it was Burns. Jack couldn’t believe Burns had managed to weasel a job on Marcus’ task force. Baby was not going to be pleased and Jack didn’t look forward to telling her. Jack didn’t look forward to working with the man, but Marcus had ordered Jack to funnel all requests and issues through Burns. Unless he was called, Jack wasn’t allowed to contact the SAC directly. Burns was now his go-between. Jack was fairly certain that was Burns’ idea. One more way for the little prick to make himself feel important. Jack sighed and signed to the bartender for another drink. He didn’t care if he got drunk. He wasn’t driving and if he got too drunk to walk, he’d take a cab back to his apartment. He stared at his reflection behind the bar and finished what was left of his drink before the new one arrived. He was just settling in to nurse that third bourbon properly when the entire tenor of the bar changed. Jack felt it happen. It set his lawman’s instincts on edge. He’d experienced something akin to this in the field. He sometimes just knew a bust was going to go bad when it looked clean, or a perp was going to cut and run when all the evidence said he’d stay. He simply knew at a gut level that something had changed. He felt it in his bones, as his Irish grandmother would have said. The Polish one would have declared him possessed or bewitched. He thought of the mark on his neck and figured she might just be right. Even as that sense of intuition filled his mind, he saw them. He 84
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knew then what he had felt. Vampires. Now that he knew the truth about what lurked just outside the perceptions of those locked in the everyday normal world, he could tell immediately what they were. There were two of them, moving self-assuredly through the crowded room toward a booth. He recognized the black-haired one even as the vampires approached an already occupied booth. It was the Dealer from the club, Remy Lambert’s cousin. He didn’t recognize the man with the Dealer, but he had no trouble in recognizing that he was a vampire. There was something in the way they both moved, a little smoother, a little more confidently than anyone he’d ever seen before. A girl stumbled and with lightning speed a hand shot out to steady her. Jack seriously doubted that he or anyone he knew could move that fast even if given prior warning something was going to happen; they’d never manage it without any. There was something in their eyes, too, a gleam, almost a glow that set them apart. Those bold eyes moved over the crowd the way a pair of hunting lions’ eyes swept a herd of zebra. He understood now why Baby said a family of vampires was called a pride. Every movement, every glance marked them as predators. Jack didn’t try to analyze the stab of jealously he felt; he simply ignored it. He had other, more fascinating things to analyze. He watched the two claim the booth with a simple jerk of the Dealer’s head. The occupants of the booth surrendered it without even token protest. A waitress was there immediately to clean the table and take their orders. Jack shook his head. Baby had said her family ruled the city, but Jack hadn’t really understood what she meant until now. Not everyone in the bar knew what the two men were, but it was obvious that most knew who they were. The reaction was similar to what Jack had seen when highly placed crime and gang lords entered an establishment where their power was known. He wondered if that was actually what most people thought they were. Did they hide their demonic nature behind the facade of organized crime? They certainly seemed to 85
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operate much the same as that group. And it would make a hell of a lot of sense. Most people left real gangsters alone. And if there was a hint of lawlessness and murder to their names, well, organized crime was a lot easier to explain than the occult and vampirism. Jack was beguiled by just how much he didn’t know about their lives. He gladly took the unexpected, but welcome opportunity to observe them closely. The Dealer—damn, what was his name?—looked much as he had the night Jack had met him. The black jeans were still just a touch too tight, the cowboy boots with their sharp sterling tips and ornaments were a touch too flashy, the black leather jacket was a touch too tough. The black t-shirt had been replaced by a royal blue shirt of heavy silk that was half unbuttoned, revealing more chest than was seemly. No one in the bar was complaining, though. A man that pretty could get away with dressing trashy in ways less privileged men dared not even contemplate. Instead of censure, the pair were garnering appreciative looks from both women and men throughout the place. The beauty and power radiating from them was appealing on a subconscious level. For those few that, like Jack, obviously knew the truth the appeal approached fascination. If the Dealer was engaging, his companion was magnetic. The other man was at once a contrast and a complement to the Dealer. His dress was elegant, chic, as sensual as the Dealer’s but much more understated and reserved. His black cashmere sweater and silk slacks were a nice contrast to his rich brown sport coat. Whomever he was, Jack had to admit his taste was flawless. Jack categorized him as the Gentleman. He lacked the spectacular beauty of his ebony-haired companion, but he was extraordinarily handsome in his own right. His strong, regular features and heavy brown hair drew many an eye to him. He smiled easily and often, his dark eyes sparkling with vitality and animation. He was completely at ease with his surroundings. Jack had the feeling the man would be that way regardless of the environment the vampire might find himself in. 86
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Intelligence radiated from his every gesture. He had a commanding presence Jack found appealing. Jack wondered briefly what the fawneyed man had been before he became a vampire. He watched the interaction between the two vampires carefully, trying to gain any sense of who they really were. They seemed to get along with each other amazingly well. They were at ease and comfortable with each other, remarkably so. There was an immense sense of camaraderie in their body language and expressions. There was frequent laughter and spirited discussion, little touches and playful sparring. The Dealer seemed far more at ease than he had at Amato’s, obviously relaxed and enjoying himself. The tension was gone from his body and that disturbing hunger was gone from his teal eyes. Jack watched for nearly twenty minutes as they talked and bantered. They flirted with the waitress and any passing female. Several women took an unnecessary detour just to be able to pass their table. He noticed at least two men do the same thing. The Gentleman flirted with the men the same as he did with the women, though the Dealer pointedly ignored the males. Jack was intrigued by that since he’d observed the warm glances and gentle, intimate touches the Gentleman bestowed on the Dealer. They’d even held hands for a good ten minutes, their clasped fingers resting openly on the table. Jack initially suspected they might be lovers, now he wasn’t sure. The Dealer seemed completely comfortable with the rather marked level of intimacy with which the Gentleman favored him, but was markedly uncomfortable with even a hint of sexual interest from strange men. Jack filed that personality quirk away for analysis at a later date. It was enthralling, but told him nothing additional about the nature of vampires. Jack wondered if all vampires were as inherently attractive as these two. Were they engaging simply by their very nature? Was that part of the package? Did it make it easier to hunt, letting them draw their prey to them rather than search the night for someone to kill? Did they all have some human who willingly gave up their blood and body for the 87
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vampires’ pleasure? Was there a girl out there waiting for the Dealer to grace her bed with his breath-taking beauty? Was there a young man hungry and eager for the Gentleman to sink long fangs into his throat? Was there someone out there longing for their touch? Did they have someone like Jack? When the Gentleman glanced at his watch and then pulled the other man to his feet, Jack knew he’d missed his chance to speak with them. Next time, he swore to himself, he’d make whatever move he needed to in order to find out whatever he could about these beautiful, fascinating beings. He’d find out whatever he could about his own addiction. *
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New Orleans, Louisiana Friday, 5:20 p.m. January 31, 2003 Jack removed his glasses and closed the book in front of him. He carefully moved it to one of the stacks to his right. It was rather old and fragile and he’d paid far too much for it. He’d spent more on books in the last two days than he had in the last two years. And Jack was an inveterate reader. His dinette table was covered in volumes, periodicals, and papers. He’d purchased, borrowed, and damn near stolen every relevant text he could find on vampires. He’d begun the laborious task of trying to sort through the literally thousands of legends and find common threads and bits that might be factual. His training as a profiler and a predisposition to the analytical made the task less daunting for him than it might be for another, but he still found it intimidating. He couldn’t be sure what was and wasn’t fact. It was driving him crazy. He wanted to know everything and he knew practically nothing. And though there was a plethora of information available, most of it was suspect at best. His sources of information were limited as well. This wasn’t 88
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something he could turn over to his usual research team. He could imagine their faces if he asked them to discover the factual basis for vampire legends. They’d start competency proceedings immediately. He didn’t need that kind of celebrity. Jack was known for his clear thinking and ability to cut through the extraneous fabrications that clouded a case. He didn’t want to damage that reputation. He could see it now—profiler believes in the occult. He didn’t need anyone comparing him to Fox Mulder. He got enough X-Files jokes as it was. He knew that some of the task force, Bowles and Calzonetti in particular, knew at least something about what was really going on after dark in this town, but he couldn’t ask them too much directly. Jack had already dug as carefully as he could and learned next to nothing from his colleagues. Wilson, Calzonetti, and Bowles had shrugged off his questions, saying he knew all he needed to and he should stay as far from the Master and his people as he could. Jack couldn’t let them know why he was so interested. He couldn’t very well tell them that he was curious about vampires because he was having an affair with one. He didn’t feel like having them put him in a sunbeam each morning checking to be sure that he was still alive. The one man who did know the truth of what happening in Jack’s life and who’d have at least some of the answers was completely off limits. Jack for damn sure wasn’t going to ask Remy Lambert about Baby. Every time Jack saw the Cajun, Remy tried to lecture him about how dangerous it was to be near her. Jack had taken to avoiding the policeman as much as possible just so he wouldn’t have to listen to another harangue on the subject. He had come frighteningly close to punching Remy in the nose the last time they’d talked about Jack’s undead mistress. It looked as though his new lover was going to be his only source of accurate information. Jack had sworn to himself he would ask more questions of Baby Roxton, find out everything he could. Yet each time she deigned to visit him, he’d become so wrapped up in the sex and the 89
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blood play, in the pain and pleasure and sheer addiction of it, he never had a chance to ask his questions. She never stayed long and they really only talked for the few minutes it took her to dress after their carnal gymnastics. She was always gone within twenty minutes of Jack’s final orgasm and he spent ten of those twenty minutes just getting his breathing and heart rate back to some semblance of normality. He couldn’t say he was happy about the way their trysts ended, but he wasn’t about to ask her to stop visiting him. Frankly, he kept wondering how he could lure her to his bed on a twice-daily basis. “Obsessing about her or what, Jack? You’re acting like a sixteenyear-old who just got some for the first time. It’s absolutely pathetic,” he told himself. With a sigh, he looked at the information on his computer screen. The data he’d collected was referenced and cross-referenced and matched and analyzed and still completely useless. He closed the laptop. He needed first-hand information from someone who knew facts. And the only one who would have concrete facts would be another vampire. He didn’t know how one would go about contacting any other vampires. He now knew the Master was a vampire, but he couldn’t very well call up his mistress’ husband. Even if he’d known the man’s number, Alec was the last person Jack wanted to encounter. Jack wasn’t entirely sure what might happen if he ever met the Master again. He had no idea how the vampire felt about his wife taking lovers, if they had an open marriage or not. He didn’t know if Alec was the jealous sort. And frankly, the thought that the vampire lord was the jealous type rather concerned the agent. He knew now why Remy Lambert was so afraid that night in Amato’s though Jack didn’t feel the same way. Thinking back now, though, Jack found that he still couldn’t drum up any real fear of what he had seen. In fact, he found his memories quite exciting and wished he’d paid better attention at the time. Thinking now of Alec lifting his head from Baby’s neck with her blood still staining his lips sent a pleasant shiver through Jack. 90
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He drew a long breath and tossed his glasses gently onto a stack of papers. He wasn’t accomplishing anything. He’d get out for a while. It sometimes helped if he stepped back from a problem for a while and then approached it again later with a clearer mind and a new perspective. He’d go have a couple of drinks and just observe the people around him. That always amused and relaxed him. A different exercise for his brain was probably just what he needed. Besides, if he got out, he might not think about how very disappointed he had been when Baby had called and said he wouldn’t be seeing her at all this weekend. *
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As he had before, Jack felt the two vampires enter the bar. They took the same booth and Jack settled in to watch. The reactions of the people around them were consistent with what he’d seen previously. It fascinated Jack so many people seemed to know who and what they were. How could an entire city keep such a secret? It was obvious at least the management of the bar deferred to them. Jack was reminded again of the way organized crime leaders were sometimes treated. The general population might not know who they were, but those who did treated them like royalty. So it seemed to be with the vampires. He watched long enough to see they were even more relaxed this time, even more in tune with each other. They acted as though they were settled for the evening, but Jack wasn’t sure he could risk too much time just observing them. They might leave again and who knew if they would return. He couldn’t miss this chance. Finally, gathering his drink and his courage, Jack approached their table. The Gentleman glanced up immediately and the Dealer followed suit. Jack suppressed an instant’s apprehension. He knew that the Gentleman’s dark-chocolate eyes could turn blazing yellow in an instant and the courteous smile hid razor fangs. This wasn’t simply a man. This was a predator. That well-mannered exterior hid a killer. 91
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Jack nodded to the Gentleman and addressed his raven-haired companion. “I’m not sure if you remember me, but I’m…” “Bébé’s new pet,” the man interrupted. His teal eyes were hard and unwelcoming. “Frère,” the Gentleman protested softly and sent his companion the gentlest look of reproach before turning his attention to Jack. By contrast to the Dealer, his rich brown eyes were warm and held a definite welcome. He stood and held out his hand. “You must be Special Agent Niemczyk. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Jean Claude DuValliere.” “Prince Jean to you,” the Dealer amended coldly with threat implicit in his voice. Jack would have been intimidated if he hadn’t been so annoyed. No one who looked and dressed like this man had the right to be that rude to anyone. “Renny!” Jean admonished as he shook Jack’s hand. “Won’t you join us, Special Agent?” he asked politely. Though his language was tinted with the same accent as Remy Lambert and his cousin, it was lighter, covered with a polished veneer of education. His speech was as flawless as his dress, the delicate accent adding to the overall appeal this man possessed. “Thank you. I’d like that, if you don’t mind.” Jack put on his most urbane manner. Jean motioned Jack into the seat he had just vacated. Jack ignored René’s eye roll. Jean sighed. “I really am going to have to discuss behavior becoming to a master vampire and prince of the city with you, my brother. Again.” René smiled. Apparently the threat wasn’t that frightening. Jean shook his head and smiled at Jack. “Agent Niemczyk, I am glad we bumped into you. I’ve read your reports—excellent work, by the way—and I’m quite intrigued by your theories regarding the Vieux Carré Vampire. I feel we—” “Jean,” René protested. “You promised! No work tonight! I come to 92
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town and all you do for the last two weeks is work. We’ve had time for one drink together at the most. I barely even seen you since I’ve been here.” There was a definite pout to his slightly out-thrust lower lip. Jean laughed and scootched his brother over in the booth so he could sit beside René. He reached down and patted René’s thigh, resting his hand there fondly. “You missed your big brother, heh?” His smile was slightly crooked and infectious. Even though it wasn’t directed at Jack, the agent found himself smiling in response. René snarled petulantly. “I was having a good time before Bébé’s new squeeze showed up. Why we talking to him? He’s nothing but a Pet, less than even the lowest minion.” He drew a deep breath and looked past Jack, ignoring the FBI agent. As far as René was concerned, the FBI agent was no longer there. “Frère,” Jean protested again, his tone playful and seductive. He gave the other man a coaxing smile. René gave up trying to be broody. Jack imagined he found it impossible when Jean was smiling at him like that. René looked at his brother and grinned. “Yeah, I miss you, frère, even though you ignore me and take me for granted. Even when you’d rather spend our first night together in over a year with a Pet. It wounds me, m’ cher. Feels like a stake through the heart.” René’s grin broadened and he threw an arm over Jean’s shoulder. Jean laughed, an intensely pleasant sound that rang through the bar and caused people sitting nearby to smile. Jean’s laughter could have that effect on people. “René Beaumont, you’re a shameless hussy!” Jean exclaimed. The veneer slipped and his accent thickened. “I never, ever take you for granted, cher coeur. You’re fishing for a compliment, you.” René’s grin spread completely across his face, white teeth flashing against his olive skin. “Yeah. So, do I get one? You let me know you miss me, too, yeah?” He was nearly bouncing with suppressed excitement. 93
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Jean shook his head. “Yes. Effrontée!” And to Jack’s amazement, Jean leaned in and delivered as passionate a kiss to his brother as any the agent had ever seen. It was reciprocated. When Jean leaned back finally, the smirk on René’s face was so nearly comical Jack was hard put not to laugh. “I see we can’t leave you two alone for any length of time without you causing a complete scene,” a cultured Southern voice practically purred. Its tone was lush with amusement and fondness. Welcoming smiles, spontaneous and genuine, spread over the vampire brothers’ countenances. “Stewart!” Jean declared and stood, René sliding out right behind him. Jack had an impression of dark hair and glasses before the speaker was enveloped in an enthusiastic embrace. “Where you been, heh? We expected you last week!” “Tante Juliet!” René practically shouted and scooped up a delicate brunette, whirling her around, her long skirt in danger of tangling in the glasses and cutlery of the nearby tables. These strangers were lookedfor and welcome. Jack stood simply because it felt silly to sit when the others were all standing. He waited patiently in hopes of getting a better look at the newcomers. Then he noticed the woman behind them and Jack’s attention was completely diverted by the sight of his lover. He hadn’t expected to see her tonight; had, in fact, been told not to expect to see her the whole weekend. He was overjoyed, though he covered it. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Jackie,” she said slowly, echoing his thoughts. Jack got the impression she was somewhat displeased. She accepted hugs and kisses from René and Jean. She didn’t come near Jack, didn’t touch him. When the greetings were complete, she ended up leaning against Jean with his arms wrapped about her. Jack repressed a surge of jealousy. He wanted to hold her. He covered that, too. 94
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Looking at the group, he was amazed at how together they all seemed. There was no hesitancy in their physical contact, no timidity. They were completely open and uninhibited in their speech and mannerisms. He did have to say this for the vampires—they were astonishingly at ease with who they were and with each other. Eventually, the chaos of welcoming calmed. The newcomers finally noticed the stranger in their midst and looked at Jack quizzically. Baby smirked a bit. “Juliet, this is Jack. Jack, this is my sister, Juliet Cattret.” Jack stepped forward and held out his hand. The beautiful brunette ignored it and ran a delicate hand over his face. It was cool and Jack knew it contained ten times his strength. Baby was an attractive woman in her own way but this woman was stunning. Her long dark hair was nearly black and her huge eyes were a startlingly deep blue. She was thin and delicate-looking and dressed in a completely feminine fashion. Jack was nearly floored by her beauty and charisma. She was also, to his now-knowing eyes, obviously a vampire. “He’s pretty,” she said, the lushness of the swamps and bayous enriching her words. Her accent was subtle, French, and alluring. Baby smiled. “Yes, he is. Quite pretty.” She turned to the dark-haired man beside Juliet. The man chuckled opulently. His was the cultured voice that had interrupted the earlier conversation. He made a fine companion piece for the lovely vampiress, his negligent elegance well matched to her feminine grace. He was handsome in a refined and understated fashion. There was something about him, though, that set off Jack’s instincts. There was something chill and cunning in those gray-blue eyes that couldn’t be hidden by the conservative glasses and serene manners. Jack discovered he was having trouble deciding if the man was a vampire or not and that concerned him greatly. He noted that the Southerner was breathing steadily, so he was alive. Still, all of Jack’s instincts were shouting at him. 95
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“Stewart, this is Special Agent Jack Niemczyk of the FBI. He specializes in the pursuit and apprehension of serial killers.” There was a definite gleam in Baby’s eye. Something about this was intensely amusing to her. The newcomer raised an expressive eyebrow over the rim of his glasses. “Really?” he drawled. She nodded and made a noise indicating the affirmative. The smile turned to a grin. “Jack, this is my dear friend and brother-in-law, John Stewart Westmoreland. You may know his work. He’s a forensic psychiatrist of some note. But you probably know him better as the L.A. Slasher.”
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CHAPTER 8 THE N ATURE O F THE B EAST
New Orleans, Louisiana Thursday, 10:45 p.m. January 30, 2003 Jack stared at the man sitting across from him. The L.A. Slasher. It didn’t seem possible. One of the most notorious serial killers in the country was the proper, almost prissy man seated directly across the table from him, one arm draped over the beauteous brunette and the other draped over Jack’s red-haired lover. Of course, Jack knew from experience that killers seldom looked like the stereotype that lurked in the popular consciousness. If they did, they’d be a hell of a lot easier to catch. Jack sighed. At least his instincts were functioning correctly. That was some consolation. He’d felt something was off from the moment 97
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he’d seen the man. Jack had never been actively involved in the pursuit of the L.A. Slasher, but he had kept close tabs on the case’s progress. As Baby had said, apprehension of mass murderers was his vocation. The Slasher crimes were unique in several respects and he’d found the case fascinating. In fact, he’d hoped to be placed on it just before he’d been sent to New Orleans instead. He’d never have suspected that his tenure here would result in discovering the truth about those murders. And he had no doubt that this man was the killer half of California was looking for, regardless of how little Westmoreland fit the profile the Bureau had developed. That thought brought a tiny smile to Jack’s lips. He’d always considered the lead detective on that investigation an idiot and the profiler from the Bureau little better. This just proved it. The profile Brady had written was probably less than twenty percent accurate. The Slasher was white and male as the profile stated; the rest of the deductions were mostly wrong. Jack stared at the hand lying negligently over his lover’s shoulder. He thought of the details of the crimes attributed to the Slasher and decided Westmoreland was both stronger and far more sadistic than he looked. The L.A. Slasher was an unusual UNSUB, the first of his kind. Unlike the majority of serial killers, his victims were all male, varied greatly by age, physical description, and racial background. There was no sign of sexual assault on any of the bodies. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason for why or how the Slasher picked his victims. The only thing they had in common was a history of violent crime. The Slasher only took those who were killers and rapists. That made him unique. As far as anyone knew, there were only two killers that hunted only criminals, the Slasher in Los Angeles and the less-active Vigilante here in New Orleans. And there was deep disagreement within the Bureau about why the Slasher killed, why he tortured and mutilated his victims in the fashion he did, why he walked the streets of Los Angeles dealing out his illegal justice. 98
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Something Remy Lambert had said came to mind. He’d thanked Baby for killing a rapist-murderer that he hadn’t been able to arrest. It occurred to Jack that in all likelihood his mistress was the Vigilante. He tried to figure out why that didn’t bother him but actually excited him. He knew she killed, he’d known that from the second time she’d bit him. He’d accepted that. He had in fact accepted it far too easily and his conscience niggled at him about that sometimes. He blinked, still staring at the Slasher’s slim hand resting on Baby’s shoulder. That was it. If she was killing the bad guys, he could feel less guilty about sleeping with her. Jack sighed and wondered how the hell his morality had gotten so twisted. More importantly, he wondered why he didn’t want to do something about it. He didn’t have an answer to either question. Jack shifted his gaze from Stewart’s nearly feminine hands to his blue-gray eyes. Jack found he was being scrutinized and weighed by those ice storm eyes with the same intensity the FBI agent had been directing at the Southerner. Jack couldn’t help it; he grinned. Stewart quirked that amazingly expressive eyebrow, allowing it to climb above the wire frame of his glasses. He saw the same humor in the situation that Jack did. He grinned back. Jack started to chuckle and Stewart couldn’t resist joining in. Jack’s laughter grew and grew and so did Stewart’s. Soon the two men were laughing so hard they could barely hold their heads up. René looked at Jean and said, “I think they both crazy, frère.” Jean had to nod his agreement. “Mais oui, my brother.” Stewart raised his head and wiped his streaming eyes with a napkin. “You don’t see the innate humor in this?” he gasped. “It’s hilarious. Our good agent has made it his life’s work to apprehend men such as I.” Jack wiped his own eyes. “And here I sit, sharing a drink with the L.A. Slasher. I’m…” He had to pause and catch his breath. “I’m…” Jack dissolved in laughter again. 99
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Stewart nodded, barely able to contain himself. “Lord, yes! And we even share the same lover.” Jack’s laughter died and he looked from Stewart to Baby in amazement for a moment. This time it was René who started to laugh uncontrollably. Jean punched him in the arm. “Ow! What you do that for? That hurt,” René complained. Jean’s smile was crooked and compelling. “I’ll kiss it and make it better.” René immediately forgot he was angry with his brother. Baby grinned at Stewart and Jack. “Well, I have to say that the two of you are remarkably alike.” Stewart’s eyebrow seemed to have become permanently stuck at full mast. “Really.” Juliet nodded. “Oh, yes, my Stewart. I can see the need dancing through his mind. He likes the same things you do, mon amour. Blood, all red as wine and thick as syrup. Pain, white hot and glowing like a star.” She cocked her head to one side as she stared at Jack, seeing those things that only Juliet could see. “But he’s only begun a long journey. He’ll find his way in the end.” Juliet smiled a dangerous and alarming smile. “You will find the pain you seek, mon ami, and the pleasure. Our sweet Bébé, she knows about giving pain though she is an amateur. But we all give her points for passion. No one has ever denied she’s as passionate a woman as any ever born. She and her sweet Cajun share that sense of passion. It wraps them in briars and thorny roses. They bleed from the pricks of want and desire. But René can’t possess her. He’ll never be able to own her as he would like. Poor thing.” The Cajun stared hard at his aunt, something near hatred in his ocean-colored eyes. Jack immediately filed that dynamic away for future thought. René apparently didn’t like having his personal life discussed publicly. Juliet smiled as though she saw inside Jack’s head and turned her 100
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full attention on the lawman as she continued. “Neither can Alec though he believes he does. There’s no one that can be all for her. Poor little mourning dove, she’s always had to search outside her heart for what she needs. She doesn’t have someone like my Stewart. But you will work quite nicely for her. No nasty entanglements. No hatred for what she is. In fact, you need what she is.” Juliet smiled softly and seductively. “The spirits talk to me, show me things. I learned Voodoo before I could walk, sir. I see the need all around you. It tastes like Stewart’s ginger beer, all biting and sparkling on the tongue. It’s as green as your eyes.” She stared at Jack and he felt frozen in place. What she was saying touched something inside him. She smiled lazily. “Such pretty green eyes. I like eyes. I like to gouge them out and play with them. I love the way they squish when I squeeze them with my fingers. They feel just like muscadine grapes. Mama had a muscadine arbor before the Yankees came and burned us out. I’d like to have gouged out their eyes. Squish! They’d have screamed so pretty. Tres beau.” She laughed at the expression on Jack’s face. “I told you; my sweet sister is just a child. I’m a woman grown. Spend one night with me, sir, and you’ll learn the difference between the two.” Jack shivered and he knew every vampire at the table smelled his instant arousal. Juliet smiled gently at Stewart. “He wants what he claims to hate. He desires what he hunts. It pulses inside him, all red and delicious,” she added. Jean looked intrigued while René curled his lip in disgust. “Come on, Jean. Let’s get a drink at the bar.” René led his unresisting brother away. Stewart laid a gentle, loving hand on Juliet’s arm. “Dearest, you mustn’t frighten the nice federal agent.” Juliet looked at her dearest love and grinned. “He’s not frightened of little me!” she said playfully. “But he should be.” 101
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Jack shivered again. *
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As the evening progressed, Jack was gratified to find he wasn’t the only human intimately involved with a vampire. He’d noted a small scar just above the edge of the Slasher’s collar, part of a bite mark just like the one on Jack’s neck. And aside from Stewart Westmoreland, there was at least one other living person who obviously appreciated the embrace of the Undead. The vampire brothers had a girlfriend. Jack watched in fascination as Baby’s sons cut a swath through the female population of the bar. The resulting frowns and pouty expressions when the two dropped their court of admirers to envelope an unassuming little blonde in hugs and kisses the instant she walked in the door had been highly amusing. After talking to her exclusively for over half an hour, they’d pulled her out onto the dance floor. The resulting show had raised more than a couple of eyebrows. Jack had to admit it had been thrilling to watch Jean and René tease and torment the woman. The sexual openness of the two, of all the vampires, was somehow refreshing. They simply were what they were. They didn’t even try to hide it. There was an element of arrogance in that attitude, but Jack wasn’t insulted by it. They were the premiere predators in the city, the top of the food chain, and they knew it. Jack was envious. He couldn’t believe the woman, who seemed to be a rather quiet, proper thing, had allowed the vampires the liberties they had taken on a public dance floor. Jean wrapped himself around her from behind while René placed himself in front of her. Sandwiched between them, they had proceeded to do everything short of completely stripping her the two could think of. Even now her blouse was half-unbuttoned from René’s clever fingers and her skirt hiked up slightly on one side from Jean’s exploring hand. Jack smiled a bit at the memory of watching them. Jean had held her against him with one talented hand tormenting her while he ground 102
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his arousal against her in time to the music. René pulled Jean from her lips so he could kiss his brother. The two men pressed the woman tightly between them, rocking in perfect time to the music. René had finally released Jean’s mouth and claimed her lips instead, Jean settling for worrying her neck and earlobe. The poor girl had orgasmed in the middle of the dance floor. Her cries of pleasure were stifled by René’s hungry mouth while she was held upright by Jean’s strong arm about her waist. Jack had thought he was going to pass out a time or two, though whether it would be from embarrassment on the woman’s behalf or lust at what the three were during, he couldn’t be sure. He had a sneaky suspicion lust would win that contest. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have been just as uninhibited if it were Baby dancing with him. The lure the vampires offered was too strong to resist. Baby grinned. Jack was sure she was comparing his blatant interest in the floorshow Jean orchestrated to his reaction to what she and Alec had done at Amato’s. It seemed Jack’s horizons had already broadened significantly. He kept visualizing being that sexually free, that much of an exhibitionist. The thought was intensely arousing. Jack watched the L.A. Slasher dancing with his vampire lady while the vampire brothers waltzed with their human lover. He still couldn’t quite believe the events of the evening. He was busily cataloging each event and comparing it to his current knowledge and formulating new criteria when his thoughts were interrupted as his lover slid into the booth next to him. Baby still looked displeased. “Now, you want to explain to me why, after telling you I wouldn’t need to see you this weekend, I find you sitting here with my two sons?” Her hand closed over his thigh in a painful grip, her fingers digging into him. “I don’t like the idea that you’re checking up on me, Jackie.” Her fingers squeezed, really hurting him. “Ow.” He placed his hand over hers, trying to move it. He was 103
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unable to budge her small hand in the least. She simply squeezed harder. “Oh! I wasn’t… Ow! I wasn’t checking up on you!” he asserted gruffly with a half-angry frown. “Really.” She sounded completely disbelieving. She tightened her grip. Jack couldn’t believe how badly it hurt. Whatever she was doing sent pure fire running through the muscles of his thigh. If he hadn’t been trapped in the booth, supported by it, he was sure he’d be on the floor. His right hand was wrapped around her tiny wrist tightly enough to crush the bones of a normal woman. Jack doubted if she even felt it. His other hand gripped the edge of the table just as tightly as he tried to keep from screaming. It was taking most of his control simply to not cry out from the nearly insupportable pain she was creating. “Yes, really,” he half-snarled, half-gasped. “I was just out… OH! I was just out getting a drink and… Ow! Ung… Please! I saw them and I recognized René from the other night. Oh! Don’t. Please!” Tears of pain sprang into his eyes. How could she create such agony with just one hand? “I admit that I want to know more about you, but I wasn’t spying! I was just… OH!” He jerked back against the booth as she did something particularly excruciating. “I don’t like you nosing around my family without my permission, Jackie.” Her voice was cold and hard. “That could really upset me.” Jack, who had faced down armed criminals in a dozen different situations over the years, knew he was as close to death as he’d ever been. She could kill him right there in that booth and be gone before anyone even noticed. And even if they did, no one was going to interfere. She could kill him with impunity. He was going to die within the next few moments. He knew it with crystalline clarity; she was going to kill him. “I won’t do it again,” he managed to gasp out. It hurt so badly it was all he could do not to cry. “Oh, please stop!” She twisted her hand, sending one final spasm of pain through him. 104
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“See that you don’t.” She released him. As he lay back against the cushions of the booth struggling for breath, she reached out and caressed his cheek with the same hand that had just caused him such anguish. “You’re really pretty when you’re in pain, Jackie, and I love to see you beg, but I don’t like punishing you. Don’t make me do it again.” She kissed his lips almost chastely. The bitch! How dare she treat him that way? He was furious, but knew he had no outlet for that anger. God damn her. That was it! He was done with it. Tomorrow he’d leave this Godforsaken town and hope he never set eyes on it or her again. “I’m not your slave,” he grated angrily, still gasping for breath. She laughed softly and kissed him again, deeply and passionately this time. She ran her hand over his crotch as her sandpaper tongue explored and dominated his mouth the same way she had just dominated his body and his will. He immediately hardened. She unzipped his Dockers and kneaded and rubbed his bare flesh until he moaned and wrapped his arms around her, managing, even in the tight confines of the booth, to pull her across his lap so that her legs were on either side of his. He slid one hand into her shirt and the other under her short skirt. She pulled back slightly. “Yes, you are. You are very much my slave. You just haven’t accepted it yet.” His thigh hurt where her leg pressed into his abused limb, but she was cool and damp against his questing fingers and he couldn’t think of anything but how much he wanted to be inside her. *
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René leaned down and kissed Baby on the cheek. He dramatically ignored the sight of Jack Niemczyk’s hand resting on her leg. “So you two are off then?” Baby asked. “Oui, Bébé,” René grinned. “Me and Jean, we have us a little appointment with an old friend.” The glint in his eye made it obvious 105
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both the appointment and the old friend were the shy and familiar blonde standing behind him holding so tightly to Jean’s hand. The halfsmirk on Jean’s face made it obvious the appointment entailed nakedness and multiple orgasms for all involved. “You two are incorrigible.” Baby smiled and shook her head. “Victoria, don’t let these scamps take advantage of you, dear.” René laughed. “Oh Bébé, we already did that! Years ago!” Jack could believe that. The bite scars on Victoria’s neck was well healed and old though they were obviously recently used. Baby shook her head. “So you did. Well, have fun then.” Jean’s eyes flashed for an instant and his smile lit the bar. “Oh, we will, Maman, We will!” René laughed. “Oh, yeah, we all gonna have lots of fun.” He turned around and kissed Jean quickly then raised the blonde’s hand to his lips. “Won’t we, cher?” She smiled bashfully and he laughed again. “Come, Victoria, m’ ’tite fille. Me and Jean, we gonna show you a really good time tonight.” Jean placed an arm around Victoria. “Yeah.” His accent was deep and luxurious. “You remember how good me and Renny are at that, heh?” She blushed and didn’t seem to know where to look. She cast her big, dark eyes at the floor. Jack was surprised considering what had happened earlier on the dance floor. Baby kissed René gently on the cheek and grinned. “I’ll see you both in the morning?” Jean surrendered his companion to René’s embrace so he could say his good-byes. “Mais oui, Maman,” he said and gave her a kiss. “But it won’t be too early.” He frowned briefly. “Of course, I do need to be back at the house. There are reports that some of our minions have disappeared. I don’t like it. I need to get in touch with…” She laughed. “Jean! Please, take a night off for a change?” He glanced over his shoulder at his oh-so-beautiful brother and the 106
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oh-so-appealing woman in his arms. Jack could practically see Jean form a mental image of the two of them sans clothing in his bed. The vampire prince grinned down at his mother. “You’re right, Maman. I do need some time off.” Her smile was soft and caring as she said, “Good. I worry about you working too hard, my Jean. You have fun. Promise me?” He kissed her again. “I will, cher Maman. I promise.” Baby watched with concerned eyes as her sons left the bar. Jack wasn’t sure what she was worried about and didn’t really know how to ask. But finally, at risk of having his teeth knocked down his throat, he said, “Are you worried about the girl? I… I don’t think they’re going to hurt her.” There was no anger in Baby’s eyes when she looked at Jack. In fact, she seemed pleased with his comment. “No, they’re not. Not at all. My sons are fine men. Two of the finest I know. That girl is safer with them than she’d be with anyone on Earth.” She seemed terribly sad for a moment but then shook it off. “I’ve changed my mind, Jackie.” She looked into his green eyes. “I think maybe you and I need a little time together tonight. You have your car?” He nodded, afraid that if he spoke she’d change her mind. What they’d done in the booth had only whetted his appetite. “All right, then.” She signaled, and her bodyguard appeared immediately. “Jerod, you take care of Dr. Westmoreland and Lady Juliet. Take them wherever they want to go. I’ll be with Agent Niemczyk.” “I’m not supposed to leave you alone, ma’am.” Jerod didn’t look pleased. “Lady, the Master…” “Is out of town and won’t be back ’til day after tomorrow,” she said harshly. “I’ll have the protection of the FBI, for God’s sake!” She sighed. “Jackie? Are you armed?” Jack gave the driver a hard look and opened his coat enough for the other man to see his shoulder holster. 107
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“See,” she said in exasperation. “And he’s trained to use it.” “I have used it,” Jack informed her gently, but there was an edge to his voice, an implicit threat. Baby smiled. “You really are an absolute treasure. There’s so much darkness just lying there hidden beneath that almost professorial demeanor.” She ran a hand lovingly over his cheek. When she saw her guard hadn’t moved, she frowned. “Jerod, you’re ex-Secret Service! You know how well-trained your FBI counterparts are. I’ll be perfectly safe with Jack. You know that.” “I’m not sure of that, but I know it’s useless to argue with you when you set your mind on anything,” the big bodyguard grumbled as she waved him away and he reluctantly complied. Baby stood and waited for Jack to join her. He did so without hesitation, but when he stood, his leg nearly collapsed beneath him. She caught him before he could stumble. “I’m sorry, Jack. I guess I got a little too angry.” He worked his leg for a few moments. “Yeah. I guess so. It hurt like hell.” She almost smiled. “It was supposed to.” She kept her arm around his waist as she thought for a moment. She smiled at him appreciatively. “Most men would have been screaming before I was half-way done with them.” He slipped his own arm around her waist, pulling her into his embrace. He kissed her soundly, even a touch roughly, before shaking off her supporting arm and heading for the door on his own. “Yeah, well, I’m not most men.”
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CHAPTER 9 KILLERS AND CONFIDANTS
New Orleans, Louisiana Sunday, 9:53 p.m. February 2, 2003 John savored the blood in his glass. It still tasted wonderful, though it lacked the effervescence of that which ran fresh from the vein. He closed his eyes and remembered that instant, that taste. It was so sweet, those moments when life was flowing into his bags to be stored away for later consumption. He so enjoyed watching the flutter of their eyelids as they died, life fleeing their worthless bodies to sustain his. Only in dying did these women have any worth. Only in feeding him did their lives gain any meaning. He smiled. How happy it must make them, poor pitiful refuse, to finally have a reason for existing. He was so good to them, far better 109
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than they deserved. He gave them meaning. In sustaining his immortality they had gained purpose. He shifted in his chair, restless and ill at ease. It was growing harder and harder to wait, but that was the price. He couldn’t kill as he wanted to, not yet. He had to wait. He had to be patient and prove his worth. And he was worthy, none more so. Hadn’t he done all that was required for years now? Hadn’t he followed the rules, using the women only for the blood while they were alive? He didn’t use their bodies until after they were dead. He treated them with more respect than they treated themselves. He kept the blood pure and unsullied. Soon, though, he wouldn’t have to wait. He’d no longer need for them to die first. He’d be able to enjoy their screams. They’d die with their skulls crushed in, with him inside them, screaming their joy at the release and purpose he offered them. And he wouldn’t have to wait for the moon to call them for him. He would hunt nightly. He would range across the city like a god, free and immortal forever. Hundreds would die to feed his hunger. Blood would flow at his whim. He reached down and freed his aching erection and began to pleasure himself. He imagined the blackjack in his hand, crushing skulls and bashing in their faces. He felt their useless, worthless bodies writhing beneath him, heard their screams in his mind. His desire peaked and he came as he imagined taking life from woman after woman as they pled for him to spare them. He’d spare none. *
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New Orleans, Louisiana Monday, 9:53 a.m. February 3, 2003 The morning sun slipped through the blinds in steel-bright stripes, 110
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creeping across the floor and climbing the side of the desk to finally lay in lazy rows across the files and papers scattered on the desktop. Jack stared down at the mess and tried to think. He’d just read the latest updated profile from Quantico on the UNSUB the media insisted on calling the Vieux Carré Vampire. Every time he read that name, he wanted to roll his eyes again. Honestly, who came up with these things? He pulled his thoughts away from idiot reporters who helped give narcissistic killers the sort of aggrandizement they craved and back onto to the criminal analysis. He couldn’t let anything distract him. He was too worried about the profile he’d just read. Usually the boys and girls at Quantico were nothing short of miraculous, but something wasn’t right this time. The profile just didn’t work for him. He just couldn’t agree with it. It didn’t happen often, but once in a while Jack was convinced the profiling unit was wrong. This was one of those rare instances. The profile was flawed and that meant any proactive steps his task force might make based on that profile would be flawed. He had to figure out what was missing, what was incorrect. He tried again to think like the killer. He had to be able to think like this one because no one else was. He sifted all the information, all the evidence over and over. It was all there lurking somewhere just out of his reach. If he just tried a little harder, pushed himself a little more, he knew he’d be able to see what this man had seen and feel what he had felt. It was all there in the evidence if Jack could just get it straight in his head. Nothing was missing. He just wasn’t seeing the whole picture. He had to think like the killer. He had to be the monster. He placed a hand across the autopsy protocol of the seventh victim and stared at the bars of light and dark that followed the contours of his fingers. For an instant he saw his fingers curled around the handle of a blackjack, felt the satisfaction as the weapon impacted the head of his victim. The satisfaction only grew when she fell insensible to the grime and dirt of 111
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the alley. No, Jack corrected himself, not satisfaction, irritation. She moaned and rolled over and over, not unconscious but not fully aware either. The irritation turned to anger… The bitch had gotten herself dirty. Fucking whore had gotten mud all over herself. How was he supposed to put something that filthy in his car? He should beat her head in and leave her ass here to die. How dare she? She’d destroyed his plan. She’d messed it all up, the fucking bitch! He brought the blackjack down on her head over and over, pounding her skull until it was pulpy and soft. Breathless, he slammed the weapon against her head until the rage drained away and he felt good again. He grinned down at the lifeless body. He’d shown the twat that she couldn’t control him; she couldn’t mess up his plans… Jack shook off his thoughts and vaulted from his chair. He dug frantically through the cabinet containing files on other murders in New Orleans during the same time period as his UNSUB’s predations. He knew now nothing was missing. It had been there all along. It had just been ignored. He pulled out the file he was looking for and cursed, both pleased and appalled. Twenty-four. The mother-fucker had killed twenty-four women, not twenty-three. Just because he’d beat this one to death rather than drained her blood didn’t mean she wasn’t one of his victims. It wasn’t that they hadn’t found the body yet. He hadn’t skipped a month as some had thought. He just hadn’t been able to complete his agenda. And what if she wasn’t the only one? Jack didn’t believe the killings here in New Orleans were the first this predator had committed. There were others somewhere. Jack needed to find them. The first murder always gave the most information about the assailant. Jack settled in to research any crimes that might have elements of the same signature. He felt the blood extraction was necessary to this 112
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perpetrator but so was cleanliness. When Sara Faye Kelly rolled in the dirt, she somehow upset the tightly woven fantasy this son of a bitch craved. Jack thought of the victim profile and the three key signature elements he had and began his search. He’d focus in on women who fit the profile and who’d been murdered on a full moon, who’d had their blood drained, who’d been meticulously cleaned of trace evidence. Marcus insisted the blitz-style attack was part of the signature, but Jack didn’t agree. He felt that was the current MO. The killer used it because it worked best for him. But it wasn’t something he needed to do to fulfill whatever emptiness he felt inside. The blood did that, the necrophilia did that. Jack started his database searches without a word to anyone, knowing that SAC Marcus wasn’t going to approve of this line of investigation. *
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New Orleans, Louisiana Tuesday, 11:53 p.m. February 4, 2003 Baby stroked the patch of hair running down the center of Jack’s chest with gentle, contented fingers. They were darker than the sunlightened strands on his head. She’d told him earlier she liked to tease him about being blond because it annoyed him so. In truth, his hair was more nearly brown. If he didn’t spend as much time as he could outdoors, there would be no sun-bleached streaks to tempt her. But Jack did spend as much time outside as he possibly could outside. He ran five miles daily, swam whenever he got the chance, played basketball or handball, anything to keep his body as sharp as his mind. She smiled faintly and kissed one deep-rose nipple, biting it just enough to draw a pleased sigh from Jack. He really did like that touch of pain. 113
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She kissed his chest, the muscles that rippled beneath her lips firm and hard. Jack knew he was quite fit for someone his age, but at fortytwo there were intriguing lines about his mouth and at the corners of his eyes. He had scars and a gray hair or two. It was starting to concern him. He wasn’t comfortable with the thought of losing his physical edge to age. “How old is your mother, Jack?” she asked. “What?” He frowned. “My mother’s sixty-one.” Jack looked at her in confusion, her tangent unclear to him. They had been talking about the perfect lover. Was she reading his mind again? “Why?” She sighed. “She’s only two years older than I am.” Jack looked at her in shock. “You’re fifty-nine?” She looked thirtyfive. She grinned crookedly. “Yep. Being a vampire does have its advantages.” She laid her head on his chest. “Jean is a couple of years older than you. René, at most, is only a year younger.” Jack blinked in surprise. So he was contemporary with Jean and René. But where the brothers’ bodies had been frozen in time just as they gained their full maturity, Jack’s body had continued to age. He felt a surge of dislike for them both. She smoothed her hand over his bare chest. He sometimes worried that she compared his normalcy to their near-perfect, undead beauty. He laid his hand over hers, stilling it. Jack liked to face his fears head on. “I guess I’m a bit of a disappointment after all that gorgeous youthfulness.” Baby smiled and let his fingers fall between hers before she squeezed them gently. “Actually I find your maturity a pleasant change,” she said. “Believe it or not, I think I actually prefer a little bit of real life to the ageless perfection of my husband and sons. It gets wearing after a while. Especially when I’m not as perfect as they are. I was a good deal older than any of them when I died.” She grinned. “Only Stewart and I show this same level of experience on our bodies. 114
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And now you.” They fell silent as he thought about what she’d said. No, he’d admit that her body wasn’t youthfully perfect, but it was damn nice. Rather than the body and face of an eighteen-year-old, she had the flawless form of a mature woman in her prime. Being a vampire seemed to have smoothed away any defects she’d had when she was alive. Jack wondered how she’d actually been in life. Was she very different or were the changes all subtle? Did becoming a vampire polish and accentuate the attractive aspects a person already possessed or did it create them from nothing? He didn’t get a chance to ask. “How old do you think Alec is?” He arched an eyebrow. Her mind really was jumping all over tonight. Ten minutes earlier he would have answered her question without hesitation; now he wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know. Twenty-five, thirty at the most.” “He’s a seven-hundred and forty-three. Alec was born in 1260.” His heart started to hammer. “Juliet is a hundred and sixty-three and our sire saw the fall of Rome.” He couldn’t believe it. “Immortality.” “Agelessness,” she corrected. “Complete freedom from disease and most injuries. But we can still be killed. We still die.” “Sounds close enough to immortality to me.” The ages she mentioned were incomprehensible. He couldn’t relate them to anything real. So he focused on her. He could relate to her age even if it was incredible. Jack couldn’t believe she was nearly as old as his mother. That was a new kink to their already twisted relationship. He chuckled. “I never knew I went for older women.” She snorted delicately. “These days I’m older than most of the family but Alec, Trevor, and Juliet. Let me tell you, though, it beats the hell out of the alternative.” She could tell what he was thinking. “Give it a few years, Jackie, and then we’ll talk about whether you’re ready for eternity, okay?” Gooseflesh covered him. Agelessness, she’d said. He couldn’t 115
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imagine. “I bet you didn’t have to wait.” She laughed. “I waited nearly twenty years, baby. If Alec had his druthers, I’d still be waiting.” She stilled, just stroking his body soothingly, easing the spots she had bruised and clawed minutes earlier as she’d held him screaming beneath her. She said making Jack scream had become her new favorite hobby. “You ever been married, Jack?” He smoothed her hair drowsily. “Twice. They both divorced me.” He felt her shift her head and knew she was looking up at him. “It was mostly my fault. My job… well, I’m gone most of the time. It’s hard to hold a marriage together when one of you is never home. I have a kid with each. My son and daughter are in nearly grown now but, well, their mothers might as well have been single parents. It takes a special sort of woman to deal with that. I don’t see the kids much. They call when they want money. I can’t blame them. I didn’t really get to see them grow up.” He shrugged, covering the pain of that statement. “There nothing I can do about that now though. We all make our mistakes and live with them.” She became very, very quiet, unmoving as the corpse she was, her fingers resting cool and soft on his skin. “Yeah. That’s the truth.” Jack could sense unease and sadness. More and more, he could actually feel what she was feeling. He knew it had something to do with the feeding and the sex. Somehow, it was binding him ever closer to her. And he could feel something in his confession of being an absentee parent had deeply upset her though she was pretending it didn’t. She rose from his bed and searched about for her clothes. “Damn. You’re hell on my wardrobe, Jack,” she said as she looked at her ripped and torn blouse. “I’m gonna have to remember to wear nothing but Kmart specials when I visit you.” Jack smirked up at her as he settled himself comfortably in the pillows with his hands behind his head. “You weren’t complaining 116
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when I did it.” “I wasn’t complaining now.” She grinned and tossed the blouse aside, deciding it was beyond use. “I’m gonna have to borrow one of your shirts.” He waved a hand in the general direction of his closet. “Go right ahead.” She started at his neatly hung clothing and burst out laughing. “Jack! You have everything all matched and color coded!” He looked a bit sheepish. “I don’t like to have to hunt for things.” She sat down beside him, buttoning up one of his shirts. “I’ll tell you a secret. Mine looks nearly as anal. Of course, though, my clothes are much more interesting!” When he cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at her, she elaborated. “I’m a control freak, baby. You know that. I’ve always been that way. I ran projects for a living. I organize things, Jackie. It’s what I do.” It was his turn to laugh. “Think you could organize this mess of a task force?” “They driving you insane, honey?” He shook his head. “No, Remy Lambert is driving me insane. The task force is driving me to homicide.” Her smile turned wicked. “Oh, you’ll like homicide, Jack. You’ll like it a lot!” He stared at her, realizing what she was saying. He’d never thought about… Could he? Would he? It seemed less outré than such a thought would have just a few weeks earlier. He shook off the implications. He’d deal with that when it came up. He wouldn’t allow the abstract concept to trouble him. “Well, I won’t have to worry about the task force much longer,” he said lightly. Her glance was searching and suspicious. “Yeah?” He knew she was trying to categorize his expression. “The Special Agent in Charge has asked that I be reassigned as soon as possible.” 117
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She wasn’t pleased. At all. In fact, she was coldly, icily, displeased. “And why is that?” He shrugged again, disguising how badly the failure troubled him. Jack had failed before. You couldn’t catch them all, but he didn’t like it. And he particularly didn’t like it when someone said he’d failed before he felt he was finished. “The case isn’t getting anywhere.” “So he gets rid of his best chance at solving it. That’s completely asinine.” He looked at her in surprise and she explained. “I don’t make unconsidered decisions, darling. I looked you up, Jackie. You, John Patrick Niemczyk, are damned good at what you do. There’s no one in the Bureau with a better apprehension and conviction record. I’ve read your commendations. I’ve read your citations. If anyone at FBI has a snowball’s chance in Hades of catching this son of a bitch, it’s you.” “Well, SAC Marcus obviously doesn’t feel that way.” His expression was colored by the ruefulness he felt. “He doesn’t like the direction I want to take the investigation.” “He’s an idiot.” “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Jack rolled onto his side and propped his head on his arm. “But it looks like I’ll be leaving soon.” She reached for Jack, pulling him up with that inhuman strength he found so exciting so she could kiss him. “You’re not going anywhere, baby. Not until I say so.” Her eyes flashed with demon fire, sending arousal arching through him. She shook her head and drew a deep breath. “Damn, you look delicious. It’s hard not to grab you and go for Round Three.” “Why don’t you? I’m more than willing,” he said with fire in his voice. “I’ve stayed too long already.” “Ah,” he said, allowing his disappointment and jealousy to tint his tone. “I see. Need to hurry home to your husband.” She became very still and he had that flash of sadness again. “No, I don’t have anyone to hurry home to. Alec will be out until dawn at 118
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least, mid-day more likely. That’s become his usual pattern. René’s with Jean, much to Jean’s delight. Jean doesn’t get many chances to have some time with his brother. God knows where Stewart and Juliet are. They headed out at sunset with Stewart fully armed, saying they might be gone a couple of days. They sometimes disappear for weeks at a time.” She stopped as though she realized she was rambling to avoid Jack’s question. “There’s no one at home I really cared to spend time with, Jack. I can go back and drink the remaining hours of the night away or I can stay here and play with my very pleasing, very appealing, very alive, and warm boytoy.” He wasn’t insulted by her description. It was accurate enough. He watched her face closely as she made her decision. “If it comes down to a choice between alcohol or spending the rest of the night with you, I’ll take you over a cold highball any night, FBI.” He yanked her to him and plunged his tongue deep into her mouth, his hand already creeping to the jointure of her legs. “I don’t want you to go away, Jackie.” He lay back, pulling her atop him. “I don’t wanna go anywhere but here,” he said, already sliding into her. *
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Jack stared in disbelief at the invitation in his hand. Baby had casually tossed it on the bed as she was leaving. Now with the gray light of morning teasing the sky, he wondered if she knew how confusing this all was. The invitation was formal and straightforward, printed on extremely expensive paper… The Master cordially invites you to join Sir Alec de Leon and Lady Roxton for a celebration of Mardi Gras at the Bourbon-Orleans, March 4 th , from sun-up until midnight. 119
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RSVPs were directed to Prince Jean Claude DuValliere at a given telephone number. It was signed in near-perfect Victorian copperplate “Alec de Leon.” Jack shook his head. Lambert had said something about Alec de Leon being only one of Alec’s aliases. From the looks of the invitation, there was an honorific to go with that alias. Hmmm, Sir Alec De Leon… Jack had an idea. He pulled his laptop from the bedside table unto the bed with him, accessed the Internet, and began a search for a Sir Alec de Leon born in 1260. An hour later, Jack closed the machine. He’d found what little history there was on the man who’d died in 1286. Alec wasn’t at all what Jack had thought. Highly educated and scholarly, he was on his way to becoming a noted man of letters as well as a renowned warrior and ruler. What the hell had happened to him? Jack lay back in his tousled bed and considered the changes he’d experienced in just the last two-and-a-half weeks. What would he be like in a year? Two? A hundred? A tremor of icy anticipation ran through his whole body. He knew now what was intimidating about Alec De Leon. It wasn’t the physical threat the vampire had, though Jack suspected that threat was substantial. Nor was it the tough biker image Alec projected; Jack wasn’t impressed by that and never had been. What was absolutely terrifying about Alec was his freedom. Alec could be anything he wanted, could do anything he wanted, and have only himself to answer to. Alec wasn’t troubled by any laws, regulations, or codes of conduct save those he set for himself. Alec was free. Jack reached across and picked up his phone. “Hello. Prince Jean? Yes… This is Jack Niemczyk. I hope I didn’t wake you… Good… I only called to let you know that I accept the Master’s generous invitation to Mardi Gras.” 120
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CHAPTER 10 THE P RINCE O F THE C ITY
New Orleans, LA Friday, 12:43 p.m. February 14, 2003 Jack leaned back and stared at his monitor in combined satisfaction and puzzlement. He had been working on his own private profile of the Vieux Carré Vampire for nearly two weeks and had reached a few pertinent conclusions. Louisiana wasn’t the first place this guy had operated. This serial killer wasn’t local. Jack had found several interesting parallels in some cases from California. Ten women fitting the victim profile had been murdered over a period of three years. More importantly, the kills there had stopped shortly before the murders in Louisiana had started. The MO was slightly different and so the experts believed it was two different killers. 121
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Jack didn’t. And he didn’t believe California was this UNSUB’s first killing ground either. Before that there had been five women in Iowa Jack was sure were part of the pattern. The last victim there had died four or five months before the first one died in California. Four or five months, time enough for the killer to acclimatize himself to a new area and find his comfort zone. The growing sophistication of each new kill was apparent to Jack. Each one told Jack a little more about the man who did it. And he had no doubts a single killer was responsible for all the murders. He smiled at the monitor. He felt closer to locating this UNSUB than he had since he’d joined the hunt. He looked at the list of victims and considered them each one more time, trying to milk everything he could from their lives as well as their deaths. “Agent Niemczyk?” a rich, delicately accented voice interrupted Jack’s thoughts. Jack looked up in surprise. Jean DuValliere stood in the doorway to Jack’s small office looking like a fashion spread from GQ Magazine. A dark-suited man whose posture and appearance screamed “bodyguard” stood slightly to the vampire’s left, droplets from the loosely furled umbrella he clutched in one hand trickling onto the scuffed tile floor. Another man with a nearly identical suit, umbrella, and attitude was just visible behind them. Gary Bowles quickly stood. He was the only other of Jack’s office mates currently in the little room. “Your Highness,” he gasped. Jean nodded politely in his direction, but remained focused on Jack. “Forgive me for not calling ahead. If it would not be an imposition, could you spare an hour to discuss this serial killer with me?” If Gary’s eyes got any bigger Jack figured they’d pop out of his skull. He straightened in his chair. “Of course. I’ll be happy to.” There was no way Jack was going to let a chance to talk to any vampire slip past him, but especially not this one. Jean DuValliere was probably the most fascinating vampire Jack had yet seen. 122
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Jean quickly scanned the tiny office and Jack felt heat growing across his cheeks. Cramped, barely space to move between the desks and filing cabinets, it didn’t paint a very flattering picture of Jack’s status on the task force. Normally, he could care less about such things, but for some reason it bothered him to appear less than his absolute best for this man. He couldn’t contain a flood of mixed relief and embarrassment when Jean smiled gently and asked, “Have you had lunch, Agent? Perhaps you would care to join me while we talk, yes?” Jack accepted with alacrity. He didn’t want to sit in his make-do space with phones ringing and people coming and going while he talked to Jean. The vampire murmured something to the bodyguard beside him. “Of course, Your Highness,” the guard said before pulling out a cellular phone. “Prince Jean would like his usual table set for himself and a business associate.” He hung up immediately and Jack knew whomever was on the other end of the conversation had no time to say yay or nay to the order. Jack wondered anew just how much power these vampires had in New Orleans. As Jack followed Jean out into the rainy afternoon, umbrellas carefully held over both of them by the bodyguards, he could restrain himself no longer. “Sir, if I may, why does everyone address you as Your Highness and Prince?” Jean motioned for Jack to precede him into the back seat of a large gray Rolls Royce. “You know that Alec is Master, oui? That means he is king, liege lord over all the demons in the city. His children are traditionally addressed as prince and princess. I am his heir so I hold the title of Crown Prince,” he explained as he sat down next to Jack. “Such things mean little to a man in your position, though, Agent.” Jack wasn’t so sure of the truth of that. From the little he’d been able to find out, it meant a great deal in certain circles and Jack had a feeling that it should mean a great deal to a man in the position of Pet 123
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to the Master’s wife. The Prince made small talk, pointing out structures of interest along the way as the driver wended his way though the rain-slicked streets and into the Garden District. The restaurant was hidden on a quiet street amid old oaks and dense bushes. To all outward appearances it was a private residence, a more restrained example of Victorian elegance than many on the street. Only within did its true function as an exclusive, and if Jack was any judge, extremely expensive eatery stand revealed. Jack was suddenly very grateful for the new suit he was wearing. A gift from his mistress, he’d been reluctant at first to accept it. Jack knew enough about fashion to know that the dark gray cashmere with its assortment of shirts in linen and silk, and the silk ties and matching kerchiefs, were far, far beyond his budget. Baby had sworn that it was nothing to her and that she merely wanted to see him properly attired. Leaning back in her chair as Jack was measured and fitted, she’d said she liked to see him dressed to suit his beauty and that one day he’d be grateful for it. In the meantime, he needed to relax and just go with it. Besides, he couldn’t squire her about in off-the-rack suits and knock-off shoes. He’d shot a hard look at her fishnets and garters and ended up laughing when she assured him that since she wasn’t beautiful she had to be outrageous, but that a man as pretty as he was should be dressed accordingly. It was all bullshit, of course, but she was right about one thing— Jack was grateful. It was silly but he felt much more self-assured and comfortable in his cashmere suit than he would have in anything he’d ever bought, especially since he knew the trench coat Jean wore with such negligent ease probably cost more than Jack made in an entire month. So he silently thanked his mistress as he watched a small bird splashing in a puddle outside. The garden view from the Prince’s “usual” table was soothing and probably the best in the place. “What do you suggest, Your Highness?” he asked as he turned his 124
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attention to the menu. “If you would allow, I would be happy to order for us both,” the Prince offered and at Jack’s acquiescence, instructed the waiter to bring them a lunch whose understated sumptuousness delighted Jack. For a dead man, Prince Jean certainly knew how to live well. To Jack’s further delight, Jean requested they postpone discussion of the serial killer until their after-dinner coffee. The meal passed as pleasantly as any Jack had ever experienced. He learned a bit about Jean DuValliere if he didn’t learn a great deal about vampires. One of his early questions about the Prince was answered when he discovered that Jean had been a professor at Tulane University. He’d taught philosophy until he’d been killed by a mugger. Alec had found him as he lay mortally injured and at Baby’s behest turned him and began a family and a tradition. The members of the Master’s clan were almost all victims of violent crimes, turned in extremis and added to the family. Jean did say it made them unique among their kind. Jack was deeply intrigued, but didn’t get the chance to pursue that thread of investigation. The Prince seemed to feel he was saying too much and shifted the conversation back to more mundane channels. Finally, over coffee and the finest crème brulé Jack had ever tasted, the subject of the serial killer entered the discussion. The Prince had concerns of his own. “I have read all your reports, Agent Niemczyk.” He paused and a crease appeared between his expresso eyes. “May I call you Jacques? Your surname does not fall lightly from a Cajun tongue. Merci! Jacques, I am appalled by what I have read. These poor women, it is beyond my understanding even as a demon.” He sighed. “I have your reports, oui, but I need to hear from your own lips what you believe. Tell me, monsieur, what sort of creature is it that is so evil even a demonic monster such as myself cannot understand it?” Jack seriously doubted that Jean Claude DuValliere understood the meaning of the word monster, but he patiently outlined just what made 125
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killers like their UNSUB operate. He explained the serial killers’ need to manipulate, control, and dominate, how all lust killers operated on those three principles in their need to possess their victims completely. He outlined the environmental conditions of abuse, poverty, or inequality that often led to a serial personality. He tried to convey in layman’s terms all that decades of research and criminal investigative analysis had taught him and his predecessors about why men turned to murder to satisfy some dark need inside them. He explained that in the end it all came down to choice. These men, and it was almost always men, killed because they chose to kill. It gave them a feeling of control and satisfaction that they couldn’t get anywhere else. They did it because they were selfish bastards who couldn’t get their jollies any other way and they didn’t care about the pain and misery they inflicted on anyone else as long as they got their rocks off, either literally or figuratively. They did it because it made them feel good and they liked it. Jean listened intently and asked intelligent questions that proved he understood a great deal of what Jack was saying, but in the end he shook his head. “I can understand the bloodlust. I feel that every second of my life. But this need to humiliate, to control, I do not understand it. I never have. Punishment, oui. I understand that and I have done torture myself in the name of punishment. I can even understand the need to terrify; for my kind it makes the blood taste sweeter. But this has none of those aspects. I cannot understand this killer.” “Neither can I,” Jack said. “But I will. Give me just a little more time and I will.”
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CHAPTER 11 MOON R ISE
New Orleans, Louisiana Saturday, 1:12 am February 15, 2003 He felt so good. He finally felt good again after all these weeks of deprivation. John hefted the motionless body of the hooker into a fireman’s carry and dumped it into the back of his Expedition. He quickly folded the edges of the tarp over it, making sure every inch was covered. She’d leave no hair or fiber evidence in his vehicle. He paused long enough to touch the back of her head. The spot he’d struck was soft and spongy. He closed his eyes for just a few seconds, enjoying the feel of it. Delicious. So sweet. He felt his groin grow heavy. He took a deep breath. He could wait. 127
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He’d prove he was worthy. He pushed desire aside as he snapped the cargo cover in place. He pulled down the back hatch, pushing until it locked with a nearly inaudible click. He smiled broadly as he drove away. His control was already paying off. Hadn’t he moved more silently tonight than he ever had before? Didn’t he feel stronger and more powerful? He luxuriated in the glory of what he was becoming. The few blocks from his hunting ground to his work site passed in pleasant contemplation of how easily he’d taken down the woman nestled in the back of his car. The throb in his groin grew more insistent and he rubbed it with his left hand while he steered confidently through the light traffic. The anticipation for the next phase of the ritual was growing by the second. It was going to be hard to restrain himself from taking the hooker before he bled her but that was the price. He had to prove he had perfect control if he was going to ascend to the next level. He was so close. This one might be enough and if not her then only one or two more would need to be sacrificed before he could kill the way he really wanted to. Satisfaction rolled through him as his headlights flashed across the front of the old gas station. He ran his tongue over his teeth, checking their edge. His canines seemed just a little longer, just a little sharper, and he grinned. His transformation was already beginning. He could feel it deep inside. All of his effort was finally going to pay off. He pulled the doors to the abandoned garage closed behind his SUV, contemplating that no-longer-so-far-off day when he’d finally achieve all he’d been working for. He pulled on a smock and a pair of long latex gloves and let his anticipation build. As he strapped the unconscious body of the hooker to the autopsy table and cut away her clothing he wrinkled his nose at her smell. Filthy whore. Well, that would be easily remedied. He reached for the hose and disinfectant. Soon she’d be clean. He always made sure they were clean long before they ever died. 128
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He smiled in anticipation as cold water splashed over her body and ran down the channels in the table to pool on the floor before draining away down the grate. One day, blood would flow as easily as that water. The gutters of New Orleans wouldn’t be able to contain it. It would flood this pest hole of a city, wiping away the stain and filth that covered it. And New Orleans would only be the beginning. One day, he’d cleanse the world. *
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New Orleans, Louisiana Tuesday, 11:45 a.m. February 18, 2003 Jack understood the wish to kill. He’d felt it often enough himself. Looking at Sarah Jane Felders he felt it again. He knew her name because one of the uniformed officers who’d been called to the disposal scene recognized the corpse as “Say-Say” Felders, a prostitute he arrested regularly down on Decatur Street. Say-Say was twenty-seven, mostly white though she claimed to be African-American, and the mother of five now-orphaned children. She’d been working the streets ever since her third husband had been killed two years earlier in a drug hit in the Tremé projects. She wasn’t very good at it, having a tendency to pick johns who were more likely to knock her around than pay her. Say-Say had been a victim her whole life in one way or another from what the uniform could tell Jack and now she’d become a permanent victim of the Vieux Carré Vampire. And all Jack could feel was a near-overwhelming anger and a need to kill. It was probably a good thing they hadn’t caught the Vampire in the act because Jack’s longing to wrap his hands around the UNSUB’s neck and press his thumbs into the bastard’s esophagus was so strong Jack might very well have acted on the impulse. He turned from 129
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watching Say-Say’s body being loaded into the coroner’s wagon to his reluctant partner and saw his own anger mirrored on Remy’s face. “This’s got to stop,” Remy said through clenched teeth. “It can’t keep going on and on.” He shook his head, rage and denial twisting his usually happy, open expression. “It’s got to stop.” Jack drew a deep breath and was unashamed that it quivered with rage as he exhaled. “It will. If I have to walk the streets of New Orleans for the rest of my life and then some, it will.” *
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New Orleans, Louisiana Wednesday, 10:21 p.m. February 19, 2003 Jack watched the moon rise slowly between the bare branches of the graceful mimosas that edged the wall of his garden. Baby assured him that come Spring the mimosas would be covered in fernlike foliage and fragrant pink flowers. She promised to make love to him in a hammock beneath their delicate branches. Even that thought couldn’t cheer him tonight. He felt only weariness. His anger had been worn away by autopsy protocols and crime scene photos, by one meeting too many and the memory of bodies so bloodless they looked blue in the sunlight. White arms wrapped around his chest. Pale as the winter snow that never fell here, they were still rosier than the bodies that haunted Jack’s dreams. “Jack, come inside and see the rest of the house.” Baby’s body pressed soft and preternaturally strong against his back. “I hate that moon,” he said. Gibbous, a fat sliver past full, it hung in the deep gray sky, mocking him. “Every night it rises, just ticking off another night, marking the time until someone else dies. Twenty-six days to go and he’ll kill again, and I’m no closer than I was a week ago.” His bitterness bit more deeply than the early spring chill around 130
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them. “Hell, I’ve been fooling myself. I’m no closer than I was when I set foot in New Orleans.” “Jack,” she said slowly, drawing out his name, using that one word to tell him that his fears were baseless and he was abusing himself for no reason. “Four women have died since I got here. I have thousands of suspects. Lists and lists full of them and I’ll bet you that the name of the killer isn’t on one of those lists.” He folded his arms over hers. “I really hate that moon.” “It’s not the moon’s fault,” Baby said softly. “And it’s not yours, either. You’ll find this killer.” “You’re the only one who still thinks so. Marcus has reassigned half the agents on the team and asked the chief of police and the sheriff to reconsider the people they’ve assigned. He’s bringing in new people.” He curled his lips. “The inference is that he’s bringing in better people. He asked that I be reassigned. Quantico doesn’t want to do that just yet. But it’s only a matter of time.” He closed his eyes against the moon’s glow. “You’re not gonna like this. He’s brought in Corwin Burns. Something about needing his expertise as a prosecutor.” He felt her shrug and bury her face between his shoulder blades. “So Johnny-boy found a new job. Don’t worry about it, baby. One day Mr. John Corwin Burns will mess up and I’ll find him in a dark alley. That will be the end of that problem.” Jack couldn’t help chuckling. “Is that how you deal with all your problems? You just eat them?” “Oh, Jack!” she said with disgust. “I wouldn’t eat Burns! He’s bound to taste nasty! All that discontent and sourness? Yuck! I’d just break his neck.” Jack laughed out loud. He probably shouldn’t; after all, she was talking about killing someone, but he couldn’t help it. He turned in her embrace and kissed her quickly. She glowed in the moonlight and he looked back over his shoulder at the source of that glow. 131
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“Come inside, Jack. It’s too cold out here for you. Don’t you want to see the house?” She honestly sounded concerned that he had shown so little interest in her belated Valentine’s present. Jack let his gaze slip from the hated moon to the trees and the old brick wall, to the spacious lawn and deep flowerbeds now filled with daffodils and hyacinths. It was a splendid garden, large and quiet. An exquisite Classical gazebo gleamed white against azaleas that would bloom in just weeks. Behind Baby, wide porches and galleries in matching white stood out against the dark brick of the old house. It really was beautiful. And the reality of it suddenly hit him—it was his. This was his garden, his house. The papers he’d tucked so negligently in his pocket proved it—a clear deed in his name, no mortgage, no payments except those he made with his body and blood, and he’d have paid those any way. Like the expensive sports car parked out front, a make-up present because the house wasn’t ready for Valentine’s Day, it had been paid for with sex. Did that make him a whore? He looked at the antique mansion, soft lights gleaming from sparkling clean windows. It came with maids and gardeners. He could have a chauffeur just for the asking. His closets were now full of designer suits and shoes. He had a credit card with a limit he’d never even think of spending that was billed to someone else. And as a Be My Valentine present, she’d bought him a huge house in the Garden District. He smiled. If he was a whore, he was at least the most expensive damned whore he’d ever heard of. “It’s a beautiful house, honey. It’s perfect.” And it really was. Its refinement was everything Jack had ever dreamed of. It represented a way of life he’d never believed the son of poor immigrants could possess. It was elegant and old and graceful and quite possibly the most beautiful house he’d ever seen. And it was his. “Why?” He didn’t have to explain. She understood the question. “Because you’re perfect, Jack. You’re a perfect jewel I found by accident.” She 132
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shrugged. “I just bought a setting worthy of you.” He tried to see past the façade, to figure out what was under the outrageous clothes and the more outrageous attitude. “You really think that, don’t you? That I’m perfect?” “You are for me.” She grinned up at him. “Now come inside. Come see what I got you.”
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CHAPTER 12 FRIENDS , LOVERS, & CONSORTS
New Orleans, Louisiana Monday, 9:42 a.m. February 24, 2003 Jack slammed the file onto his desk blotter and threw himself into his chair. He decided he hated Special Agent in Charge John Marcus with a passion he usually saved for the fiends he hunted. He wondered if Marcus reserved his pissiness for Jack or if he was just an asshole to everyone in general. Jack voiced his question aloud. “Pretty much everyone,” Gary Bowles answered as Remy Lambert nodded. The three men were alone in Jack’s shared office. “Though I have to say that he has a real hard-on for you, Jack.” “I’ve noticed.” Jack looked at his half-empty coffee cup and wished it held something a little stronger. 134
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“Jack, heads up!” Gary tossed him something shiny. Jack looked down at the steel flask he’d caught. He opened it and sniffed. He jerked back from the heavy fumes of bourbon and looked at Bowles in surprise. “Gary! You’re a mind reader!” “It’s known around here as the Preventative,” Remy said and then smirked. “It prevents you from going upstairs and strangling SAC Marcus. We’ve all had to use it a time or two.” Gary laughed. “In your case, you might want to stock up.” Jack laughed, took a hearty drink, and tossed it back. “I better stop there. That son of a bitch would love to catch me drinking on the job.” Remy nodded. “That’s for damn sure. And Gary’s right, he really does have a hard-on for you, Jack. What was it this time?” “The usual. If I’m such a hot shot, how come there hasn’t been more progress on the case? If I’m so good, why haven’t we arrested anyone yet? How come our list of suspects number in the thousands? How come we don’t have one decent lead?” Remy sighed. “Like we don’t ask ourselves those same questions every day? We don’t need him on our case about it. Bastard.” “That’s for damn sure. And it’s even more irritating that he doesn’t even give you his full attention while he’s yelling at you. He sits there straightening everything on his desk over and over while he reams you a new one. I swear he’s neurotic. I know I’m anal but, Jesus, he’s practically obsessive-compulsive. Christ, talk about a neat freak.” Remy grinned. “Then he ought to fall in love with Corwin Burns. He’s so fucking anal he makes you look like a hippie.” That lightning grin broadened. “Now there’s a thought. They’re perfect for each other. They should start dating. Hey, if Marcus gets some, maybe he’ll mellow out and leave the rest of us alone.” Gary laughed. “That would be the only thing Burns would be any good for.” He tossed the flask to Remy. “Maybe that’s the problem, Jack. You’re not sucking up the right way.” Remy grinned and aimed a paperclip at Jack. “Yeah, you need to 135
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use that mouth of yours for something besides smart-ass comments.” Gary tossed a pencil at Remy, indicating he wanted his flask back. “Oh, I’d say Jack’s been using his mouth for something besides talking. Jean DuValliere took him to lunch a week ago.” Remy’s eyes were wide as he stared at Jack. “Shit! The Queen not enough for you? You dating the Prince now, too?” Jack took refuge in his coffee and willed Remy to shut up. “He wanted to talk about the UNSUB.” “Yeah, right,” Gary scoffed. “Prince Jean talked business for three hours.” “Three hours?” Remy shook his head. “Fuck. What are you, Jack? A vamp magnet?” Jack hoped Remy wasn’t going to start up again. They’d reached a state of truce concerning Jack’s affaire with Baby Roxton. Jack theorized it was because he was still alive. Remy was finally convinced Baby didn’t intend to kill Jack out of hand. Jack hadn’t told Remy he wasn’t as sure of that as the policeman was. Remy still wasn’t pleased Jack was dating the vampire queen, but he’d stopped haranguing Jack about it. Unfortunately, it seemed Remy had gotten a little too comfortable about it. Jack jerked his head minutely at Bowles, warning Remy not to say anything in front of the other agent. Remy waved it off. “Gary’s got a nephew in the Pride. He knows all about the family. He knows you’re sleeping with Lady Roxton. Hell, half the city knows about that. But seriously, if you’re dating the Prince you better be careful. I know the family is big on sharing, but I don’t think René likes you enough for that.” Remy looked seriously worried. Jack clenched his teeth. “I’m not dating the Prince.” Remy took a sip from the flask and finally passed it back to Gary. “Maybe not yet, but if Jean DuValliere has his eye on you then it’s only a matter of time, fils. Jean has a reputation.” Gary nodded. “No one resists the Prince for long. He’s got a list of 136
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conquests longer than our suspect list. He’s supposed to be the best lover on the whole Gulf Coast.” “I’m not dating the Prince,” Jack repeated harshly. Gary shrugged. “Okay! Don’t get huffy. Any way, I figure Lady Roxton is more than enough for any man, even you.” He grinned at Jack’s expression. “Oh, come on. She bought you a house and a car, man. That’s not the sort of thing you can keep secret when the whole city watches what the Pride does. Hey, it’s no shame. Everyone’s wondering how the hell you managed it. Her ladyship hasn’t ever taken up with an outsider before. And suddenly she’s buying you a Bentley Azure and a freaking mansion. Damn, Jack, I don’t know what you did to her, but you must be one hell of a good…” Jack’s phone interrupted Bowles. Jack was thankful for it until he saw Marcus’ extension on the display. “Yes, sir?” The other two men were silent as Jack listened to Marcus. “Yes, sir. I understand.” He hung up and looked at his compatriots. “Well, that’s it. I have until the end of the week to show ‘substantial progress’ or I’m gone.” “Don’t let him get to you, Jack,” Gary said. “It’s not your fault. God knows you’ve done everything you could to find this UNSUB.” Jack wanted to bang his head on his desk. “He obviously doesn’t think so. And I guess neither does Quantico. That son of a bitch, looks like he finally got what he wanted. Come Monday morning, I’ll be off the case.” “Not Monday, Jack,” Remy corrected. “It’s Lundi Gras. Most everything’s closed for business. Tuesday’s Mardi Gras. It will be Wednesday before he can really do anything.” Jack thought for a moment. Two extra days. That didn’t mean much to him at all. There wasn’t a hell of a lot that could happen in just two days. *
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New Orleans, Louisiana Tuesday, 7:42 a.m. March 4, 2003 Mardi Gras Day Jack stood on the balcony of the Bourbon-Orleans and looked down at the packed masses. Mardi Gras, New Orleans style, was already in full swing. Though it was hours until the first parade would pass by, the revelers were already beginning to crowd Bourbon Street. Most had a glass or can of some sort of alcoholic concoction in hand, though it wasn’t yet even mid-morning. Jack had to admit he’d had more than a glass or two of champagne at the extravagant breakfast buffet laid out in one of the suites behind him. And the cup of coffee in his hand was heavily laced with cream and bourbon. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and looked at the woman who’d stepped up beside him. He recognized her as the blonde woman from the bar those many nights ago. He’d never been properly introduced and couldn’t recall her name, but she was the girlfriend of the vampire brothers. He held out his hand and introduced himself. She smiled faintly and told him her name was Victoria Weatherford. When she turned to shake his hand, the paired bite scars on her neck were plainly visible above the collar of the purple, green, and gold shirt she wore. “I’ve been looking for an opportunity to talk to you, since you’re a Pet, too,” Jack said. She drew herself up to her full, though diminutive height and fixed him with a cold eye. “I most certainly am not!” Her black eyes snapped with fire. “I am Companion to Prince Jean Claude DuValliere,” she said proudly, much the way someone would state that they graduated from Yale or had ancestors on the Mayflower. Jack blinked. “I didn’t mean to insult you. But you have a scar like mine.” 138
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His sincerity melted some of the ice in Victoria’s manner. She pulled at the collar of his shirt and considered the barely healed wound. “No, it’s not. You’re a Pet. That’s a Pet mark,” she sighed. “You can tell that by looking?” he asked. “But your scar looks just like mine.” Victoria shook her head. “No, it doesn’t. And it’s called a mark.” She stared into his green eyes for a moment. “You really are new to all this aren’t you? That’s a mark and there are different types. It basically goes like this—Pets, Minions, Vassals, Lovers, Companions, Children, Consorts. The differences are kind of subtle and sometimes there’s bleedover from one level to another or someone is two things at once, like you can be a Child and a Lover at the same time. A real vampire can tell all sorts of things from a mark—your status, how long ago it was done, who did it. Even if I wasn’t good enough to be able to tell who bit you, I saw you with Lady Roxton. I assume you belong to her.” Jack nodded. It sounded far too complicated for him to follow. What had he gotten himself into? “Belong to her, her property. I guess so.” Some of his confusion must have shown because Victoria took pity on him. “You don’t seem too happy about it. I can’t see how being the only Pet to the Queen of New Orleans is necessarily a bad thing. Lady Roxton doesn’t take Companions or Lovers. As far as I know, no one else bears her mark. You’re her only lover outside the immediate family.” He was still confused. “You should be proud. It’s quite an honor.” She laughed softly. “Of course, it would be better if you weren’t a Pet.” She said the word with a certain amount of aversion, as if it were mildly revolting. “If you were a Companion it would be much better, but like I said, Baby has never taken an official lover before.” She laughed again. “You should have worn a different shirt, something that lets your mark show. I’d love to see the reactions. Lots 139
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of men and women would kill to be a Pet of any of the family. You belong to the matriarch.” She grinned. “The only thing better would be having the Crown Prince mark you.” The visuals that statement conjured up in Jack’s mind were vivid and exciting, and weren’t half as disturbing to him as they should have been. “There are always the distinct advantages of becoming part of the family to consider, too.” Jack leaned on the wooden railing and listened to the wind ruffle the awning above him. He’d been told it was installed specifically for this event and would be removed the next day, returning the hotel to its normal façade. Alec didn’t want any of his guests or family burned by the bright spring sun. “You’re right; I am new to this. I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” Victoria’s dark eyes went very wide. “Let’s start over. Why don’t you tell me what you know and then ask me a few questions?” Jack gratefully complied. He was ecstatic to finally have a source that had real information. He listened avidly as Victoria explained some of the secrets of this new and dark world in which he found himself. For the next hour Jack’s head was filled with old words that suddenly had new meanings—pet, consort, mark, companion, master, and children. He heard how humans could be turned into vampires. He learned how most vampires were very different from the ones in the family. Most preyed on humans for food and slaves. They didn’t interact and share their lives with humanity as openly as Alec De Leon’s pride. They were dark and hidden overlords not an openly ruling monarch. Alec was reforging ancient ties between vampire and mankind, but twisting them to suit his own odd sense of morality. Jack learned how the soul was real, how demons were real. He was told that Heaven and Hell truly existed and the world was often on the verge of destruction with only those few heroes chosen by the forces of 140
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Good standing against the Darkness. Those heroes were sometimes as bright as the Light itself, shining like novas splintering the Darkness. And sometimes those heroes were as black as a stormy night, part of the Darkness itself. Her words sent rivulets both icy and scalding chasing through Jack. He listened carefully, staring into her nearly black eyes, absorbing it all, locking it into his memory. Jack decided Victoria was a godsend. She was a wellspring of information and Jack had been craving that nearly as much as he craved his sexual encounters with Baby. His mind was flooded with data. He was nearly drowning in information. He felt as though his lungs were filled with it, leaving him gasping for breath. The family, the empire, what it meant to be a part of this hidden world parallel yet intersecting with the one he’d known all his life, it all left him breathless. He could feel his perspective of reality changing as she spoke. He’d been so blind. How had he not seen any of this years ago? The clues were all around him and he had simply ignored them. He wasn’t sure what was important anymore. Half of what he had considered inviolable was wrong. His entire rationale was in flux. He felt adrift. His mind whirling with a hundred simultaneous and oftenconflicting thoughts, Jack found a highball glass pressed into his hand. He looked up from the cool amber liquor into the deep caramel eyes of Jean DuValliere. “You look like you could use that,” Jean said. The compassion on his face was as calming as the whiskey he insisted Jack drink. Unsure exactly how it happened, Jack found himself in a comfortable chair in the sitting room of one of the suites Alec had reserved for the day with a freshened drink in his hand. “Are you feeling better?” the Prince of the city asked. He was sitting on the overstuffed couch opposite Jack with an arm negligently about Victoria’s waist. Both seemed remarkably at ease. Victoria leaned close and whispered something into the Cajun’s ear. Jack watched the expressions flit across the other man’s face. Surprise, 141
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exasperation, disbelief, and finally sympathy and concern each flashed in their turn. “You’ve had a rough time of it, mon ami. You have to forgive Maman. She isn’t used to keeping… Pets.” Jean seemed reluctant to use the word. “You will have to forgive me. I still can’t quite grasp how it’s come about that Maman has claimed you. Baby has Alec’s approval, of course, but it’s just hard to really believe that she’s bedded a man outside the family.” The Cajun lord shook his head. “You have to understand, as far as I know, Stewart is the only human Alec allows Maman to sleep alone with. And Stewart has always been considered family. Maman simply does not take strange lovers. She’s certainly never taken a Pet before.” He sighed. “Yet there you sit with Baby’s claim mark on your neck and the scent of her all over you.” Jean looked down where Victoria’s hand lay in his. “There are ramifications to this that you don’t know anything about, Jacques, and that isn’t fair to you.” “So why don’t you tell me? No one else seems willing to tell me anything,” Jack said softly. He knew he had the other man’s sympathy and he wasn’t above using that to find out everything he could. Jean shook his head. “I wonder who is likely to be hurt most by this liaison of yours. This goes far beyond just you, Jacques. This is just a symptom of something greater.” He rose and paced about the room, his normal nonchalance shattered. “I’m worried about my mother. This whole situation is out of character for her. You have to understand, Jacques, for a decade and a half, Maman denied her own deepest feelings to remain true to Alec. I know where her heart lies, but I can’t tell you that. There are three people who know that secret. The name isn’t important. What’s important is that regardless of what she kept hidden away in her heart, Alec came first. Alec always comes first. Or he did until she met you. So what changed?” He made another circuit of the spacious room with its high ceiling 142
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and antebellum grace. He was perfectly suited to the surroundings, as elegant as the fresh flowers gracing the coffee table. Only his evident disquiet marred the scene. “No, that’s not entirely true. Things were already changing.” Jack wasn’t sure Jean was really aware he was speaking aloud. As much of his dialogue was directed inward as it was to Victoria and Jack. “Was it her death? Maman is a very young Undead. The first couple of weeks when my grandsire brought her back as a vampire everything seemed the same as before, but things began to deteriorate very quickly.” He looked at the agent. “You make a living from seeing these things that go on in the human heart. Maybe you can understand, because le Bon Dieu knows I can’t.” He sat beside Victoria and leaned forward expectantly. “There have been subtle changes and some not-so-subtle ones in my parents’ marriage ever since Maman became a vampire. There are more frequent arguments. Alec has repeated and extended absences from home. Baby’s growing more discontent by the day. The sheer fact that Alec has allowed Baby to take a Pet at all is telling. He has always been adamant that Baby belongs to him and him alone. That selfishness has caused Hell on Earth for us all more than once. It isn’t really the vampire way, but it has always been his attitude where she is concerned. Maybe it is because she is now his sister and no longer his slave. But she is still his consort. And he has allowed his consort to openly take a lover.” He ran a hand through his hair, disordering the brown locks. Jack had no idea Jean was so concerned about his relationship with Baby. In their previous conversation the Prince had covered it well. Jean shook his head, confused and a touch angry. “So what exactly altered his thinking on that subject? Why has Alec allowed Baby to take a Pet? And more importantly, why after all this time did she want to?” He touched Jack lightly on the knee. “I do not mean to disparage 143
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you at all, Jacques. I can certainly see the appeal you would have for Maman or anyone. I find you extremely attractive.” There was an edge of seduction to his smile. “But there are many attractive men who have offered themselves to Maman and she never even looked at them.” He stared into Jack’s green eyes and Jack realized that Jean was very good at reading people. He had a natural talent for understanding others. Maybe that was why his number of sexual conquests was famous throughout the city. Jack knew that real sexual appeal was more mental than physical, and Jean had an ingrained empathy that would allow him to connect easily with anyone he chose. Right now he was using that empathy to read Jack for something other than sex. “Of all the men who ever offered to become her Pet, why did Maman accept your offer?” Jack looked at him in confusion and the Prince went very still. Jack could see trepidation bloom in Jean’s dark eyes. Jean was suddenly very troubled. “You didn’t offer yourself, did you?” Jean’s eyes were wide and a bit frightened. “You never pursued her at all. You didn’t come looking. You didn’t even know what you were getting into. Mon Dieu! Please tell me she didn’t force you!” Jack shook his head. “No, she didn’t. It was… I don’t….” He couldn’t begin to describe what had happened in the back of Baby’s limo. “I agreed,” he finished weakly. Jean nodded, obviously relieved though still a bit suspicious. “Thank God for that.” He settled back on the couch. “Truly Jacques, I mean no disparagement of your charms. It’s just that I would have bet that if Maman ever took a lover it would be only one man.” He shrugged not wanting to get any deeper into that. “So, I am worried. I’m worried about my mother. I’m worried about my father. I’m worried about my brother. And I’m worried about you.” Victoria laid a soft hand on his thigh, gently squeezing it. He smiled at her gratefully and pulled her closer to him. He smiled gently at Jack. 144
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“Who knows? Maybe you are what Maman needs. I would have been lost long ago if not for Victoria. She has been such a comfort to me over the years. She’s responsible in a very large part for the serenity I’m famous for. Maybe you can give some of that serenity to Maman.” He looked at the man before him. “I just wonder how this can all work out for you in any way that isn’t unfortunate.” He drew a deep breath and Jack wisely remained silent. He’d learned more in the last five minutes than he had in weeks. Sometimes it was best to just let people talk. “Maman has been matriarch for over twenty years but she has only been vampire for a few months. In terms of our kind, she’s an infant. But she’s also a master. It’s…” He waved a hand fruitlessly. He didn’t seem to even know what he was trying to tell Jack. “She isn’t always patient. Less so lately than ever before. It’s obvious she isn’t telling you everything you need to know.” He patted Jack’s knee. “Considering her attitude, if you have any questions, it might be a good idea to call me, n’est-ce pas?” Jack nodded. “I’d appreciate that.” Jean smiled and laced his fingers with Victoria’s, settling their clasped hands on his thigh. “Now, I have a favor to ask of you. Tell me something about yourself. If you are going to be my friend, we should begin to know each other better, oui?” Jack nodded again. This vampire prince was very different from the other three vampires Jack had met. Jack liked him. He certainly couldn’t say that about René, Alec, or even Baby. He hated her on occasion, though he often had much softer emotions for her. But sometimes, even while joined to her, pounding his body into hers, he hated her. When she was cruel or too secretive, when she treated him like a slave and a possession, he hated her. But moments of hatred or not, he wanted her. And he knew with a certainty stronger than any he’d ever had that he’d always want her. 145
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She was an addiction he’d never kick.
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CHAPTER 13 LIVING LA V IDA LOCA
New Orleans, Louisiana Tuesday, 11:45 a.m. March 4, 2003 Mardi Gras Day Jack watched the parade go by, but his mind wasn’t on the pastelneon glory of the floats, the sequined satin splendor of the maskers, or the shouts of the crowd greedy for throws. It was nearly noon and Mardi Gras was going full blast, but Jack couldn’t work up any enthusiasm for it. He certainly couldn’t get excited the way the other partygoers were. His mind was on Jean DuValliere’s revelations and Victoria’s information. The happy screams of the maskers as they competed for plastic beads and novelty panties were beginning to irk him. How blind were they all? 147
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Vampires and demons were all around. They had infiltrated every walk of life. The gangsters and the gangstas all paid tribute to the Master for the privilege of doing business in his city. Large campaign contributions kept the politicians in line. Graft and threats and pure force of will kept this city as neatly under Alec’s thumb as similar tactics had ever kept Chicago under Capone’s. Jack now had no doubt, the family ruled here. Other, less benign vampires might rule other cities outside the Master’s territory, but no one ruled as openly as Alec did. In over a thousand years no one had melded the human and demon world together the way he had. New Orleans belonged to the Pride. Jack sat down in a chair to watch the other partygoers laugh and drink and lean over the railing to catch throws. Some were very careful not to lean too far, not to let an errant ray of sunlight touch them for too long. Such was the nature of the vampires themselves. Ageless, immune to most injuries, able to heal in hours from the most horrible wounds, they were still vulnerable to simple things. Sunlight could burn them, especially the young. Holy relics and blessed objects, including holy water, wielded by a true believer could burn and scorch. And destruction of the heart or decapitation could kill. That brought a whole new set of questions to Jack’s mind. Since vampires changed to dust and ashes when they died, how did that happen? What did it look like? Jack was consumed by curiosity. Victoria said that vampires burned from within, their bodies consumed by the death of the demon within. They died leaving only a trace of their existence behind, but other demons often left bodies. Why? What was the difference? Weren’t they all they same? Victoria said vampires were actually just human that were possessed by a demon soul and other demons considered them somehow lesser. If Alec and his family weren’t so strong, so able to vanquish anyone who dared stand against them, the non-vampiric 148
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demons wouldn’t pay him allegiance and tribute. He ruled by feudal right and like a medieval king he held his holdings by strength of arms. Jean agreed. If not for Alec’s warrior children and descendants, New Orleans would be overrun by far less friendly demons. Jack had seen his first real demon today. There were several attending the party. It was hard to believe the horns and scales were real. Down on the street, several others had been pointed out to him. Apparently, the demon community loved Mardi Gras. Like Halloween, this was a day when they could walk openly without disguise or glamour to hide their true forms. They could mingle freely with the human world since half the humans in the street looked even more outrageous than the demons did. Jack had been particularly fascinated by a lovely magenta-skinned beauty with blue hair and curving black horns. He’d been nearly terrified by suddenly coming upon a red and black demon that looked like nothing so much as the classical representation of Satan. Victoria assured him that the demon was quite harmless and, in fact, was called Bubba by everyone who knew him even though his name was Hank. Indeed, he seemed to be harmless. Jack could see Bubba involved in a lengthy conversation with Remy and Margaret Lambert at the far end of the long balcony. Jack shook off the distraction and turned his attention to Jean’s concerns again, mentally weighing each fact as though it were a polished pebble, searching for a crack or a flaw in each one that would allow him to see into the center of the stone. So far, he could find none. Jean’s concerns were valid and that meant Jack could be headed for a world of trouble. He rose and turned away from the pageantry below to head into the hotel. He needed somewhere quieter, somewhere away from the noise and spectacle of Carnival. He could sense something just out of his reach, just out of his sight. If he could clear his head, he was sure there was a connection waiting to be found. If he could just find a few 149
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minutes of peace, he was sure he could discover it. He passed through the suite and stepped out into the hallway where he was gripped by icy cold. The air around him felt as chill as a January wind off Lake Michigan. He knew he wasn’t alone. That sense that sometimes allowed him to know when danger was nearby was tingling through his whole body. He turned and stared down the hallway. Coming toward him was a man dressed in Confederate gray. Somehow, Jack knew this wasn’t a reveler dressed in costume. Some awareness deep inside Jack told him this wasn’t a living person. His instinctual unease grew as the figure of the soldier grew closer and the wintry cold around him deepened. It was so cold he couldn’t feel his fingers. His breath clouded the air in front of him, half-obscuring the approaching apparition. The cold seemed to penetrate his body, freezing his bones, locking him in place. He panted as adrenaline surged through his system, and the frigid air drawn into his lungs further chilled him. He didn’t want to see this, but couldn’t close his eyes, couldn’t look away. “He’s not really there, you know,” a soft baritone spoke beside him as a strong pale hand settled on his shoulder. “He’s not even a real ghost.” The soldier vanished and the cold disappeared. “He’s just a reflection of something that once was,” Alec explained. As Jack’s body thawed, he turned to the master vampire with wide and disbelieving eyes. “Never seen an apparition before, heh?” Alec alleged. “No. No, I never have,” Jack managed to say. “Well, that one’s rather famous. Lots of people have seen him. All of us being here have him stirred up. Seen him half a dozen times today myself.” Alec looked at Jack and his blue eyes were as chilling as the now-dissipated cold the ghost had produced. He sniffed deeply and the chill in his neon eyes grew. “I see you decided my darling does turn you on. Guess you’re not gay after all.” Jack drew a deep breath. He wouldn’t run from this. “Never was. I 150
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just didn’t realize how interesting she could be.” “That’s obvious,” Alec answered. He glared at the human. “Let’s get it all out on the table and save ourselves from any future misunderstandings, why don’t we?” He didn’t give Jack a chance to answer. “First, she belongs to me. She always has and she always will. Don’t get any ideas otherwise.” When Jack would have commented, he found himself pressed against the wall with a slim white hand wrapped about his throat. Alec squeezed just hard enough that Jack couldn’t talk; he could barely breathe. Alec let him hang there for a few minutes, letting the human know he was completely at Alec’s nonexistent mercy. Alec let Jack have just enough oxygen to stay conscious. “Secondly, you’re a Pet. And that means exactly what it sounds like. You’re her puppy, a lapdog she keeps around to amuse herself.” Alec’s face was set in uncompromising lines. “I find you getting ideas above your station and I’ll put you down like the animal you are.” Jack couldn’t budge Alec’s hand from his throat, couldn’t loosen the vampire’s fingers from his larynx. The slightest increase in the pressure of those thin, pale fingers on Jack’s windpipe and he would strangle. The least twitch of Alec’s hand and Jack would be dead. “If you cause her an instant’s pain or unhappiness, I’ll kill you.” Jack felt his balls grabbed in a crushing grip. The possible threat to his life shifted to the very real threat to his manhood. Jack knew firsthand how sharp a vampire’s nails could suddenly become. Alec could emasculate Jack with a single swipe of his finger or pulp Jack’s genitalia with a simple squeeze of his fist. “This, this—” Alec jerked on Jack’s crotch for emphasis, causing Jack to flinch, “—is all you are to her. A toy. You’re a vibrator with a heartbeat.” Alec released him and Jack slid halfway down the wall. “Don’t forget it.” The Master turned and strode down the hall. Jack remained leaning against the wall for several minutes, collecting himself and trying to decide if the thrill he got from being 151
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with Baby was worth the abuse he had to put up with. Were the threats and denigration worth the entrée into the world of vampires? He thought of never answering to anyone save Baby for as long as he lived. He’d never have to live up to anyone’s expectations but his own. He knew only a portion of what she had to offer. Everything else was just waiting out there to be discovered whenever he felt like looking for it. There was a whole world he’d never seen. There was a new way of thinking and living. Suddenly, he had to know everything. He wanted to experience everything this dark world had to offer. Most importantly of all, he wanted to find the freedom that all these men and women, living or not, seemed to have found by existing in the darkness. He’d have to put up with Alec’s hostility, with being subservient to vampires that were higher up the pecking order. None of that was really that different from the day-to-day aspects of his life at FBI save instead of threatening his job, the vampires threatened his life. Feeling the way he did lately, it shouldn’t make that big a difference. Was he up to it? Was all that worth the possibility of attaining agelessness? Was it worth the prospect of living forever? He decided it was. *
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New Orleans, Louisiana Tuesday, 6:32 p.m. March 4, 2003 Mardi Gras Evening Jack sought escape once more from the noise and thrum of the celebration. He had spent the afternoon on the balcony or in the public suites. He admitted even to himself he was avoiding being alone. He didn’t want to encounter Alec again, though he’d seen the Master moving about the party numerous times throughout the day. 152
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Baby was often by Alec’s side. To Jack’s surprise she was the consummate hostess, gracious and poised, though her deep purple corset and black leather pants were a startling clash with the elegance around her. Alec was urbane and at his ease, dressed as ever in his worn boots, jeans, and a loose silk shirt the color of his eyes. He was every inch the Master of everything around him. Jack was surprised by the individuals who passed through, sampling Alec’s feast and his generous bar. The mayor, a pair of senators, the governor, some judges, and federal officials mingled familiarly with the vampires and humans at the party. He had also seen several crime figures and celebrities. It appeared Alec could command the attention of a vast spectrum of New Orleans society. Jack had seen society matrons in fine evening gowns presenting their debutante daughters to Prince Jean and René Beaumont without the least hint of fear. He’d spotted a well-known financier dancing with one of Alec’s granddaughters. As the day progressed, Jack had become more and more intrigued by this society he had stumbled across. He wondered how many of the guests knew the truth? He finally decided that probably only a quarter or less knew what Alec really was. To the others, he was just a rich, powerful man. Out in the hallway, he leaned against the wall just trying to get some of the noise out of his mind. His head was starting to ache and not from the alcohol he’d consumed. He’d stopped drinking a good four hours earlier and he felt disgustingly sober. He also felt disconnected from everything around him. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was wandering through some dreamscape and would wake to find himself alone in his bed. In some ways, he was beginning to long for that awakening. In others, he never wanted to wake up. He wanted to live this dream forever. Jack slowly became aware he could hear voices coming from a partially open door across from him. Not one to eavesdrop on private 153
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conversations, Jack had turned to go when his own name entered the conversation. “…As bad as that damned puppy Niemczyk. Or maybe that’s your plan.” Jack paused, unsure if he should leave or not. “Alec!” Jack recognized the voice of his lover. “Look, you two get like this every single year!” The Master was definitely unhappy. “God damn it, René, you’re a grown man and it’s time you got past it. I’m sick of never knowing when I’m going to wander into a room and find the pair of you bawling all over each other. Or God knows what else.” “What?” The shock in René’s voice was plainly evident. Sarcasm dripped from Alec’s tone. “How much of this is real grief and how much is an act? How much is an excuse just to get your hands on her?” Dead silence reigned within and then René Beaumont thundered from the doorway opposite Jack. René swept past Jack without so much as a glance, the vampire’s face like a storm cloud and his eyes flashing with angry aqua lightning. Jack heard voices start up from the room the Cajun had just exited and he drifted toward the sound. “I can’t believe you said that to René!” he heard the voice of his lover say. He moved closer and realized he could see into the small suite through the open door. “You know he walked away from everything years ago just so that would never happen! He has never once hinted that he would ever… Damn it, Alec! Why bring this up again now? Today of all days! You know what Mardi Gras is like for me and René!” Baby stomped from one side of the room to the other. “God in Heaven, Alec. What were you thinking?” Alec’s mouth settled into a tight line. “I hate it when you speak to me like that. You’re not my mother, damn it! And if you must know, I’m thinking I’m tired of him moaning about what can’t be changed! It’s been fourteen years. He needs to get over it!” 154
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“You don’t get over giving away a child! You never get over it!” She was nearly shouting. “I suppose you expect me to get over it, too?” “That’s different! You’re supposed to feel that way. You were that baby’s mother!” Alec grasped her arms, trying to pull her to him. She jerked away. “And he was the baby’s father!” Jack’s eyebrow climbed. Baby and the Dealer had a kid? Now that was interesting. He leaned against the doorframe in plain view, not attempting to hide his presence. Baby planted herself directly in front of an amazingly displeased Alec. “I want you to find René and tell him you’re sorry, that you didn’t mean it. Though if I know him, you won’t be able to find him until sometime tomorrow night when he calms down. If he hasn’t already gone back to Mobile!” “Then I guess I won’t be able to talk to him because I’m leaving at midnight.” It was obvious Alec had no intention of looking for René. She stared at him for a moment, rage and something else twisting her face and drawing her mouth into a hard moue of dissatisfaction. “Yeah. I’d forgotten,” she grated. “So, postpone your business trip until you can talk to your son.” His expression made it plain that wasn’t an option. A muscle in her jaw jumped a few times as she waited for a response that never came. “Fine. That’s just fine. You do what you have to do.” She whirled away from him and headed straight for her Pet. “Jackie, we’re getting out of here for awhile. I can’t stand being cooped up anymore, honey.” She looked back at Alec. “I’ve let myself be cooped up way too long.” Jack glanced at the Master’s hard face and hesitated for just a moment, but it was enough that she noticed. “Look, Jack. You need to make a decision. Either you want this thing we got going on or you don’t. It’s up to you ’cause I can walk 155
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away. So, you tell me—do you want to live la vida loca with me or not?” Anger radiated from her. He knew that Alec wanted him to say no, that Remy Lambert would want him to walk away, that René Beaumont wanted him out of Baby’s life. Even Jean DuValliere would prefer Jack end this love affair. Jack looked hard into her golden eyes, watching yellow lights play across their surface like some hell-spawned aurora borealis. Her red lips were drawn back enough that he could see her teeth were long and sharp. He looked into that faintly inhuman face and felt electricity shock through him the way it always did when he saw a hint of her demonic nature. Looking into her dead face, he felt alive for the first time in his life. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I want it.” *
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New Orleans, Louisiana Tuesday, 7:38 p.m. March 4, 2003 Mardi Gras Evening “Jack!” Baby nearly howled. He grunted and gripped her hips tightly. “Harder!” she grated. He laughed as best he could considering what he was doing and eagerly complied. It was wonderful to just let go, to turn loose. He’d never felt so free. A small portion of himself was absolutely appalled at what he was doing. He couldn’t believe he was in a public alley not ten steps from the insanity that was Mardi Gras, screwing a vampire girl. It was surreal. There were literally thousands of people around them. He could hear the crowd shouting as the floats cruised slowly down the narrow street, the bands playing their snippets of music for a moment or two before they marched on and were replaced by the next group. The noise was nearly overpowering. He could see flashes of light and color from 156
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the parade. Only a stack of crates separated them from the full view of anyone walking past the mouth of the alley. And yet here, only a few steps from the lights and noise of Bourbon Street, not caring who might see them, he was screwing his girlfriend. His dead girlfriend. His married, dead girlfriend, who’d just had a fight with her husband, who knew Jack was screwing her. Her equally dead husband, who had given his permission for Jack to do her any time she wanted it. Surreal was hardly the word. Baby had her arms braced against the grimy brick wall in front of her with her legs spread as much as she could manage with her pants around her knees. It suddenly occurred to Jack that she looked like a suspect about to be frisked. His desire increased about tenfold. He wondered if she’d want to play arrest one day. “Yes, Jack. Yes! Just like that!” she encouraged. “Oh, yeah, baby. That’s good! Keep doing that.” Jack grinned and reached around in front of her. What he did with his hand had her jerking back against him and screaming for him to never stop. When she roared and went limp, he continued to pound into her as forcefully as he could, pushing her up against the wall so that she had to use her elbows to keep her face away from its dirty surface. He grabbed her hips again, using his hands and arms to increase the force of his thrusts. He soon had her tossing her head, mewling and growling for more, begging him for more, always more, pushing him to let go and give her all he had. He gladly complied, using her in ways he would never have even dreamed of using a woman just a week earlier. She allowed him no inhibitions, no restrictions. Any reservations he had were swept away by her demands and her encouragement, by the feel of her body clenching and unclenching around him. She drove him to snap the bonds of restraint. He felt as though shackles were falling from him, leaving him free for the first time in his life. When, with a demonic roar that might or might not have been his name, she came again, that sound 157
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such as no women should have been able to produce sent him over the edge and he came with a roar of his own. As he pulled out of her and leaned against the wall panting, she looked at him with predatory eyes. “That’s why I keep you around, Jackie. You’re one hell of a good fuck.” “And that’s all I am to you, isn’t it?” he asked, gasping. She gave him a hard look before replying. “Pretty much.” She fastened her pants, making sure the purple laces that ran up the sides were strait. “Look Jack, I’m not gonna lie to you. I don’t love you and you don’t love me. The last thing I need right now is to fall in love with anyone.” She met his green eyes dead on. “Beside, even if I wanted that, it isn’t gonna happen. I got all the love I can deal with. I got more love than I want.” She reached for his waist and began to fasten the jeans he had pulled up as he leaned against the cold wall. “I’m fond enough of you, Jack. And I won’t let anyone else hurt you. But if you’re looking for love, you’re looking in the wrong place.” Jack watched her close the last button on his jeans and begin to fasten his belt. “I’m not looking.” She nodded. “I didn’t think you were.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She smelled of tea olive perfume and sex. “So this is what it means to be a Pet?” He ran his hand over her crotch. He could feel dampness there even through the leather. “It means I’m your fuck-toy.” She kissed him lingeringly. “Yeah.” She shrugged. “You gonna be able to deal with that?” He sucked her neck hard enough to leave a mark. He knew it would fade before the hour had passed. He could do almost anything he wanted to and it would leave her unmarked in the long run. He could do anything he wanted to her and it wouldn’t really hurt her. He didn’t have to worry about being gentle or being careful or whether he was mussing her hair. She didn’t care. As long as he gave her good, hard, frequent orgasms, she was happy. In return, she was more than willing 158
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to do the same for him. Any time, anywhere, any way he wanted. No questions. No worries. And there truly would be no worries because he refused to be concerned about what anyone thought of them being together. Fuck what Lambert thought. Fuck what any of them thought. He put that anxiety away when he stood in front of her husband and told her he wanted to share the crazy life with her. He had chosen freedom from worries and concerns. Freedom. She was freedom from all the rules and regulations and standards that bound him. “Yeah. I can deal.” She smiled her crooked smile. “You want to see how a vampire lives, Jackie?” He’d seldom seen anything more seductive than the look of impish evil on her face. “Wanna see me hunt?” Exhilaration rushed through him. “Yeah. I want to see that,” he told her. “I really want to see that.” She laughed and leapt halfway up a nearby fire escape. She hooked a leg over one rung and reached down to him. “Trust me, Jackie?” He jumped and grabbed her outstretched arm, wrapping his hand around her wrist. “No. Not one little bit,” he said as she started to climb. In just moments, he was hanging two stories above the asphalt with only her small fingers clasped about his wrist between him and a potentially devastating fall. “But I figure that if you’re going to kill me, you’ll chain me up and do it slowly so you can enjoy my screams. You won’t drop me off a building.” Her laughter rang across the rooftops. “Jack, I take back what I said earlier. I keep you around because you’re a damned good fuck and because you’ve got one hell of a smart mouth with a brain to back it up!” She half tossed him onto the roof. He rolled with it and climbed to his feet easily. “I always knew intelligent men turned me on,” she said as she landed beside him. He put an arm about her waist and smoothed her too-red hair from her face. “And I never knew violent, domineering women turned me on 159
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until I saw your fangs.” He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers, running his tongue over her upper lip. “Show me what you really are,” he said in a breathy voice. “I want to see it all. Don’t hide any of it from me.” He pushed his tongue between her cool lips, wondering if he’d taste blood that wasn’t his own on those lips tonight. “I want to know all of you.” She moaned and pressed against him. “You have no idea how badly I need to hear a man say that.” Lemon fire danced across her eyes and she pulled away from him. “Come on then. Let me show you what the night is really like.” She held out her hand and he took it without hesitation. For the next two hours, she led him across the rooftops of the Vieux Carré. He crossed slanted roofs hundreds of years old, mossy tiles slick beneath his loafers. He had no idea the roofs of New Orleans were as green as the alleys below, but emerald patches of moss and tufts of grass grew and flourished here where only vampire feet could crush them. He crossed tarpaper and pebbles, ancient slate and modern shingle. Whenever he slipped, whenever the footing was too difficult for a human, she was there, steadying him, a firm hand on his elbow, a strong arm around his waist. At times, she simply lifted him off his feet and carried him across roofs too steeply slanted for a mortal to cross in the darkness. Often, a street too wide for him to leap blocked their path. Again, she would look at him with those wolven eyes and ask if he trusted her. And each time, he would tell her “no” even as he placed his body in her preternaturally strong arms. She’d toss him easily across the gap so he always landed a safe distance from the edge. He was never in danger of falling three stories to the pavement below. Once she pulled him out onto the top of a balcony. Jack could hear the people below talking and laughing. She leaned in close, whispering in his ear, “This is the best vantage point of any for watching the 160
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parades, baby boy.” That evil, imp grin appeared. “Watch this.” She waited, carefully calculating her timing. As a set of beads whirled through the air headed for the revelers below them, she reached out and down, her entire upper body hanging over the edge, snagging the beads before the faces of those on the balcony. As startled screams welled up from below them, she grasped Jack’s hand and they fled across the top of the gallery, their footsteps echoing frighteningly to the humans below. Her laughter trailed through the night. Two houses over, still laughing, she placed the beads around his neck. He laughed with her and kissed her red lips. As the night deepened around them, he watched, taking in everything she did, each move she made. Here on the rooftops, above the city, he felt something new rise up inside himself. Watching her, lit from below by the false magic of Carnival, he felt a kinship to something, to someone. She was right; he didn’t love her. He doubted he ever could. She wasn’t the sort of woman he’d give his heart to. But he thought perhaps, in time, he might like her. He’d finally found someone who was as desperate to break free from what was binding them as he was. She felt that same longing, that same need. At the deepest level they were the same and they understood each other. Jack was an expert on the human animal and what made people behave the way they did. It was his profession and had been for twenty years. He had reached the conclusion that vampires operated on the same wants and needs as their once-human bodies. The same compulsions drove them. And some deep compulsion was driving his lover this night. She was searching for something as frantically as he was. She was trying to break free from something. She was nearly frenetic in her need to be here above the city, running along the roofs, taking paths that were impossible for mere mortals. Jack wasn’t entirely sure what drove her, but he suspected the argument he’d witnessed wasn’t the first she’d had with Alec that day. He’d seen them in the bar and at the latest murder scene. They’d been 161
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very much involved with each other on both occasions. Today, something was missing from that togetherness. Something stood between the two of them and Jack had noticed it even as he watched them with their guests. That intense longing, the sense the rest of the world didn’t exist, wasn’t evident in them today. Jack wondered if he was causing problems for them. He hoped not. Even though he was twice divorced, Jack believed in the sanctity of marriage. Baby was the first married woman he’d ever knowingly slept with. Of course, she was also the first dead woman he’d ever slept with. Jack decided he was thinking too much. He stared at her, perched on the corner of an old building watching the police sweep the midnight streets clear of revelers. A faint breeze stirred her red hair and made him glad of the jacket he wore. She fascinated him. Squatting with her hands between her feet and her knees spread wide, long black silk coat billowing about her in the light wind, she looked like one of the comic book characters from his childhood. He wasn’t sure if she was a villain or a hero. He doubted if she was sure either. Moving with greater care than she did and staying well back from the edge, he eased up next to her. She watched intently as a dark HUMV pulled onto the street and headed away from the French Quarter. Jack didn’t say anything and neither did she, but somehow he knew it was Alec leaving for his business trip. There was something in her face, something so disappointed he knew it could only be her husband leaving without doing as she had requested. The hectic glitter in her eyes seemed to increase as she watched the glow of his receding taillights. Jack looked down at the now-empty street. “What now?” She turned to face him and her eyes glowed in the reflected light from below. She smiled faintly. “Now, Jackie, now we hunt in earnest.”
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CHAPTER 14 A THIN R ED LINE
New Orleans, Louisiana Wednesday, 1:04 a.m. March 5, 2003 Jack heard the sounds of physical violence, the impact of flesh on flesh, the grunts of bodies in conflict, the cries of injury, long before he could see anything. Baby, of course, had heard it long before he did. She led him unerringly to an old flat rooftop on the edge of the French Quarter. Looking down into the alley below, Jack saw René Beaumont fighting three hideous demons. Initially, Jack expected Baby to join her son and was surprised when she simply settled to observe the fight with sadness evident on her face. The FBI agent quickly realized Beaumont needed no assistance from her or anyone else. Jack had heard the phrase “rip 163
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someone apart” before and had seen bodies dismembered by a variety of weapons and implements, but he’d never seen anyone literally torn limb from limb by someone’s bare hands before. The Dealer was obviously working through some serious anger and taking it out on his demon opponents. Jack felt rather sorry for the demons, or would have if they hadn’t been so vile-looking. When the final demon died with a gasp and a rattle, the Dealer sank to his knees in what Jack at first thought was exhaustion. Then the vampire’s face changed and René lifted a tortured human face to the skies and cried out in an agony Jack didn’t even try to understand. Baby closed her eyes and turned her head away. Jack saw that her small white hands were crushing the ancient mortar and concrete of the roof coping where she gripped it so tightly. Agony to match the Dealer’s was etched silently on her face. As René’s cry faded on the night air, Jean DuValliere appeared and soundlessly went to his brother. Caring arms pressed René’s face against Jean’s stomach, cradling René’s head and simply holding him, offering comfort. Jack’s heart hurt, seeing the two of them, even though he didn’t know why. He watched as René wrapped his arms about his brother’s waist. Jack could see the man’s body shaking with sobs, though René made no noise. Jean looked up at his mother and silently mouthed a few words. Jack read his lips. “I’ll take care of him.” Baby nodded and stood. As she did, René pushed back from Jean and looked directly at her. Jack felt as though someone had kicked him in the gut. He wasn’t sure what passed between the Dealer and Baby, but it was so forceful it sucked the breath from Jack’s lungs. Finally, René said something so softly that Jack couldn’t hear him. Jack couldn’t read René’s lips either. The agent thought it might have been spoken in French, three words or syllables. Baby obviously heard 164
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him and for an instant grief transformed her face and flooded Jack’s mind. She nodded, tiny and quick, and taking Jack’s hand led him away into the night. Looking back, Jack saw that the Dealer had returned to the love and comfort of his brother’s arms, but Jack could see that Jean DuValliere was in as much pain as the man he held. “What did Beaumont say to you?” Jack asked softly. Without looking back at the man whose hand she held in a nearly crushing grip, she answered tersely, “He said, ‘Je t’aime.’” Jack understood enough French to translate that. “I love you.” If Jack had thought Baby frenetic before, he was astounded by the desperation that gripped her now. She ranged across the rooftops like a hunting cougar. He followed as best he could. He soon discovered she was searching ahead, unable to tolerate his slower pace when she was so distraught. He found, though, she would return to him, assuring herself repeatedly he was all right. It was comforting in an odd way. He was fairly certain at some point he would die by her hand, yet he knew it wouldn’t be tonight and she would protect him from any harm any other being or situation might present. She would defend him to her own death. And then probably kill him next week. That thought didn’t upset him at all, even though he knew it should. As he approached yet another break in the shingles and tiles that meant an alley gaped below, she held up a hand and crept cautiously to the edge, peering over. Jack reached her just in time to watch her leap into the night, her arms outstretched and wind milling, her coat flowing behind her like a shadow made corporeal. Jack felt a surge of pure energy flow through him. That creature, that glorious bit of the darkness, gave herself to him regularly. That entity of shadow and dusk was his woman. His woman. Yes. In the most arcane sense of the word. He might be just her boy-toy and her living vibrator, but he owned some part of her as well. In an ancient, animalistic way, some part of her belonged to him. He grinned. He possessed a woman who could jump three stories 165
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and land on her feet looking like the vengeance of God. He could make her cry and scream and beg for his body. He could make that aspect of Death Incarnate plead for his touch. He couldn’t help it; he grinned. Admittedly, he was her fuck-toy, but God damn! Look what sort of creature it was that wanted him for a plaything. He spotted a fire escape running down the wall nearby and followed after her, his focus remaining on her even as he climbed down. So it was that he clearly heard her confront the armed gunman threatening an elderly couple. Jack theorized they were tourists; they had that lost look. Even though he knew technically she was already dead, even though he’d felt the unnatural coolness of her body, had felt it wrapped around him, though he’d laid his head on her breast and heard no heartbeat, felt no breathing, even though he knew she wasn’t alive, he was hit with a jolt of panic when the perp turned the gun on her and fired. The force of the bullet’s impact caused her to stagger back a few steps, but that was all. She lifted glowing lemon eyes to her assailant. “You know, that just pisses me off, shooting an unarmed woman!” She glanced down at the hole in her bustier. “Damn it! I liked this top.” She turned to the gray-haired man and woman. Their eyes were huge and staring and a new sort of fear covered their faces. “You’re safe now,” she said softly. “But you should go.” She reached out and placed her hand over the mugger’s hand where it held the gun. A tiny smile appeared on her face as she squeezed his hand. Jack was peripherally aware of the tourists scurrying away as quickly as they could, but he was focused on his lover as she crushed the gunman’s hand against his weapon. Her face was changing even as he watched, the faintest of ridges appearing over her brows, her canines becoming long and sharp. Jack felt that rush he got every time he saw her vampire face. He knew the world at large would consider it hideous, bestial, and even 166
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repulsive, but he could only see it as beautiful. Her demon aspect was the most exquisite visage he’d ever seen. He didn’t believe Baby a particularly pretty woman—her archaic, antique beauty didn’t appeal to him. He considered her almost plain. Her figure was too full for his taste and he preferred his women taller. Alec had been right back in that alley a lifetime ago; Baby hadn’t turned Jack on at all. But when she was like this, when she revealed the truth that lay hidden beneath the human façade, she was the most attractive, most appealing woman he’d ever seen. He hadn’t thought it possible, but his desire for her seemed to increase each time he saw her fanged and deadly. The monster that lurked barely controlled behind that soft, medieval face filled him with longing. He wanted the monster and craved the beast. He ached for the demon. He dropped the last few feet to the pavement and drew his own gun. The would-be murderer cried out in pain and Baby released him with a satisfied smile. His pistol fell from useless fingers. Jack watched the terror blossom on the criminal’s face before the man turned and fled down the alley toward the agent. Jack straight-armed his automatic at the perp. “Freeze. FBI.” Faced with an armed lawman before him and a vision of Hell behind him, the robber opted for trying to get past the man with the gun. In a move that had Baby grinning proudly at her lover, Jack clotheslined the mugger as the man tried to barrel past him. The perp went down hard, but quickly tied to scramble to his feet. Baby lifted him by the back of his neck and threw him face-first against the damp brick of a nearby wall. “Thank you, Jack,” she said softly. She picked up the mugger and slammed him back against the wall again. This time he was facing her and could clearly see the inhuman face of his assailant. She held him there with one hand and placed the other over the bleeding hole in her chest. 167
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Jack stared in fascination as she swiped her hand over the wound in a scooping motion, coating it with her own blood. She stared at her reddened palm for a few moments before holding her hand out to Jack. He grinned, a cold, smile that bespoke the blackness he’d found deep within himself. He took her bloody hand and methodically licked every molecule of gore from it. The would-be murderer, entrapped by her outstretched arm, watched in rising horror. “Oh my God. What are you?” He knew this was no ordinary man or woman. “You’re one of them. Oh my God, you’re one of them. I didn’t believe. I’m sorry I didn’t believe.” Jack was reminded of something Victoria had said. There were stories of the vengeance that haunted the streets of New Orleans, but most chose to believe them fairy tales. This murdering bastard had just found out the stories were true. Death walked the alleys of the Vieux Carré seeking those who lived by violence. The criminal began to shake and pray. Jack finished cleaning Baby’s fingers and stared at the slow trickle of blood that oozed from the gunshot wound in his lover’s chest. The blood on his tongue tingled and sparkled, leaving him craving more. He peeled the top edge of her corset back, folding down a couple of inches of dark lace, revealing the source of that ruby flow. Slowly but without hesitation, he placed his lips over the hole in her chest and drank, sucking cool blood from her wounded breast. She tilted her head back in ecstasy and breathed his name softly. He eased his arm around her waist, pulling her to him, his thigh pushing between her legs. She moaned softly and pressed against him, reveling in his touch, in his acceptance of the darkness she offered. She never loosened her hold on the mugger. Her blood throbbed through Jack’s body, warming every cell, setting his senses ablaze. Her blood joined with his, rushing through his veins and binding him ever tighter to her. His heartbeat was a cacophony of thunder and blotted out the mugger’s entreaties. He could 168
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feel the oxygen in his lungs bursting into his bloodstream, fueling the fire her blood stoked. He was acutely aware of every molecule in his body and every one in hers. When Jack finally lifted his head, her blood encarmined on his lips, she was breathing hard. That dark grin returned to his face. “Oh, Jack! I’ve never seen you look more beautiful,” she whispered. “You really are nearly perfect.” He kissed her and knew she could taste her own life on his lips, on his tongue. Pulling back finally, Jack jerked his head toward the perp. “What about him?” Baby grinned. “What about him, lover? What should I do with him?” Jack shivered as she called him “lover” with that demon face intact. God, he wanted her. “What do you mean?” Her smile turned crooked. With those sharp fangs, Jack couldn’t help but think how erotic a smile it was. She bit her lip, long canines showing over the full redness of her lower lip. “What do you want me to do, Jackie?” she asked in a breathy voice. “You decide. I’ll do whatever you want. You just tell me, Jack. What do you want me to do with him?” Jack swallowed the lump in his throat and found he was panting as though he’d been running for miles. He knew what he wanted. He knew it in the core of his being. He’d wanted it since the instant he’d seen her sucking his blood from his wrist. He’d wanted it since he’d realized what she really was. Bravery was the second aspect of the FBI motto and he’d proven over and over again that he was not a coward, but he wasn’t sure he was brave enough to say what he really wanted. He wasn’t sure he could take that final step. He wanted it so badly. It would be the act that snapped the final chain that bound him. If he could tell her what he really wanted, he would finally be free. Truly free. And he wanted to be free so desperately. It took a couple of tries, but he finally managed to get the words 169
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out. “Drain him. Feed off him,” he whispered. He never took his eyes from her glowing demon ones. He knew he had just crossed the line. There really was no going back now. Whatever his life had been before, it was over. Whoever he’d been before was dead. The man who walked out of this alley would be a different person than the one who’d climbed down that ladder. He’d felt himself changing over the last few weeks, had felt it and been afraid. But he’d also welcomed it. He couldn’t decide if he was turning into a new person or if the real Jack Niemczyk was emerging. He suspected the latter. He felt more alive, more real, more himself than he ever had before. She smiled and eased Jack closer. “It’ll kill him,” she whispered back. She was giving him an out, making sure he had the option. He decided she wasn’t half as bad as he’d thought when he’d met her. She always gave him the choice. Always. He might be dancing with damnation but if so, it was by his own choice and he could pick the tune. She had wrapped his mind in darkness and sex, addicted him to her cool blood and the feel of her teeth in his flesh, but she never forced him to do anything. He did only what he wanted, what he really wanted deep in his heart. She might make him scream, make him beg, but only because he wanted her to make him scream and beg. He decided he did love her just a little bit. He accepted her embrace. “I know.” He knew somehow that he would always accept her embrace. “All right.” She stepped back and pulled the mugger to her. He was trembling and begging. She ignored him. “Hold me, Jack. Hold me while I do it.” Jack wrapped his arms, his body, around her and waited as she stared at the mugger whose bullet would have killed her had she been human. She ignored the man’s pleadings as easily as she ignored his struggles. Jack stared transfixed and gasping for breath as she sank 170
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those beautiful, scalpel-sharp fangs into the perp and a trickle of blood, showing crimson and thick in the dim alley light, rolled down the man’s neck.
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CHAPTER 15 THE DEMON WITHIN
New Orleans, Louisiana Wednesday, 2:46 a.m. March 5, 2003 The throbbing beat of Techno-Goth assaulted Jack’s senses, the sound and lights nearly overpowering after the quiet of the rooftops and alleys. With the streets swept clear by mounted police, displaced revelers had packed the clubs and bars to finish their partying now that Ash Wednesday had arrived. “Why are we here again?” Jack asked, realizing he didn’t have to shout; she could hear him over the noise. “Because I want to dance,” Baby answered. Her voice seemed to echo inside his head and he realized she wasn’t shouting either. She handed him a beer after paying the bartender. Normally he would 172
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protest a woman he was sleeping with buying his liquor, but somehow it seemed right that she do it. Or maybe this was part of that freedom he kept thinking about. Things like who paid for a date didn’t matter anymore. He looked around the club and couldn’t help smiling. It appeared Baby had a deeply twisted sense of humor to match her sexual preferences. “I can’t believe you took me to a Goth club,” he whispered in her ear. She grinned back. “They have a vampire party every Mardi Gras. It’s always fun to mess with the Anne Rice fans.” She used a stack of napkins she had taken from the bar to clean some of the blood from the front of her corset. The human blood she’d just consumed had helped her heal rapidly. Pink skin was already showing under the hole the bullet had made in the brocade. She’d told him she’d have him dig the slug out later. He wasn’t ashamed to admit he rather looked forward to it. Sinking a knife into her lily-white breast was somehow appealing. He wondered if she’d scream. She dropped the bloody napkins to the floor. “Mmmm, now that’s pretty.” Baby motioned her head toward a handsome young man with spiky black hair and too much make-up. She chugged half of her Smirnoff Ice and set the rest on a nearby table, ignoring the protests of the occupants. “Find yourself something amusing, Jackie. I’m gonna dance.” He watched her move though the crowd, stalking her dance partner as easily as she’d stalked the robber in the alley. Jack was still stoned from watching her kill the mugger. He’d never felt so high in his life. The few times he had experimented with drugs in college couldn’t compare to this. He looked at the crowd with their black or red lips, their pale foundation and dark kohled eyes, and grinned. They didn’t have a clue. They were living in denial and fantasy. They were children playing at being vampires. It was a game to them. Oh, not all, of course. Some of them probably pretended the undead 173
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were real, though in their hearts they knew it couldn’t be true. A couple, the most disturbed among them, might even believe vampires were real. They were all figures for pity. In their pursuit of an alternate lifestyle, in their need to be rebels and exist outside the norm, they played at being something outrageous. They had picked a symbol they didn’t understand, chosen because vampires were cool or sexy or annoyed the religious right. So they painted their faces pale and their lips dark and wore fake fangs and pretended to be living corpses. They really didn’t have a fucking clue. The thing they wanted to emulate was in their midst and they had no idea. The real deal was something so beyond what they pretended to be they might as well be two-dimensional cartoon characters walking about. These humans in their Halloweenish attire weren’t real. Jack had just seen reality. He’d held it in his arms and seen her sink pearl fangs into a man’s neck and drain him dry. He grinned. He knew something these cosmetic-bound poseurs couldn’t imagine though he was sure they spent a great deal of time and energy trying to do just that. He pitied them. He had something they couldn’t touch. He had the truth. Baby was chatting up her chosen partner. Jack’s grin grew. He had her. She was the truth. Reality was death and blood and sex and an elation that couldn’t be matched by drugs or alcohol. Jack had watched the life fade from another human’s eyes and felt only exhilaration. He could have sworn the vitality she drank had somehow been transferred to him and now flowed in his veins. Jack felt alive. He watched Baby pull the Goth boy onto the dance floor. Jack shook his head. That man-child had no way of knowing what he held in his arms. He couldn’t even begin to appreciate her, what she was, what she could do. He watched his lover gyrate against the youth. He recognized the song the DJ was playing. It was only a few years old and he remembered it. Looked like the DJ was playing the whole soundtrack from some 174
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vampire movie. Of course. He laughed to himself. It was one of those Anne Rice things. That explained the intense amusement on Baby’s face; she must be cracking up over it. Jack listened to the music and observed the woman he’d already had sex with once that night. She’d end up eating that Goth boy alive, both literally and metaphorically. He wasn’t the least challenge to her. That child wasn’t up to her speed. Jack’s dissatisfaction grew by the minute. “Fuck this,” he muttered and pushed his way through the dancers toward the pair. He placed his hand on the younger man’s chest and handed the boy his beer. “Here, go play somewhere else.” He never took his eyes from Baby. “She’s mine.” Baby raised an eyebrow at her lover, never even glancing at her dance partner. She dismissed the boy without a single thought. Jack put his arm around her waist and pulled her roughly against him. “You don’t need him. You got me,” he said in her ear. She smiled. “So show me what you got, Jackie.” His smile was darker than the black lips of the girl dancing next to them. He placed his leg between hers and held her tightly. The burning beat of the music surrounded them and ate into Jack’s bones. He moved his hips against her in rhythm to that beat. “Jack! You can dance!” Baby exclaimed in surprise. “I can do lots of things,” he said, and tangled one hand in her wild red hair. He pulled her head back and to one side before he lowered his head to her white neck and sucked the soft skin there as hard as he could. His right hand crept up and began to knead her left breast. The music changed and he felt the words of a song eat into his mind for the first time. He remembered it. He had liked it well enough when it first came out, but it really struck him now. It accurately described the feeling of a human bound to a vampire. He wondered if the writer knew more than the average person imagined. Jack let the heavy percussion sink into his soul. 175
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He listened to the angry words. It was an auditory personification of the rich darkness Baby drowned him in. The singer moaned that he was little more than a slave. Jack could understand that. Hadn’t Baby broken him to her lease? Wasn’t he her servant? He remembered kneeling for her. Begging for her. Pleading and crying out for her. He stared at the purple-blue mark he’d made on Baby’s fair skin and pushed his leg hard against her pubic bone, helping her grind against him. He shoved his tongue into her willing mouth. The singer wailed that his demon had awakened and he couldn’t go back to the person he’d been and Jack grinned. Baby had awakened the demon, the darkness inside him. That bit that had always allowed him to think like his chosen quarry was free. And there was no turning back for him; he’d stepped past that point tonight. She had killed a man at his request. He had killed a man by ordering his undead lover to drain him. He had become a killer in word if not yet in deed. He thought he could still taste the mugger’s blood in Baby’s mouth. He deepened the kiss and felt her nipple harden under his hand. Madness concerned the singer yet he welcomed it. Jack understood perfectly. Maybe he was mad, too. Maybe he was sick. He didn’t care anymore. He felt good for the first time in a very long while. He felt happy. He felt free. And if that meant some murdering sleaze died, well then, he’d saved the state the cost of feeding and housing the scum in prison, hadn’t he? If that meant his lover was a vampire, then he’d gladly fuck a body that was cool and dead and housed a demon. He didn’t care anymore. The singer screamed of not knowing his own reflection in the mirror. Jack understood. He didn’t know the Jack Niemczyk that stared back at him from his mirror. He felt like a different person. In all the important ways, he was someone different than he’d ever been. And after what had just happened in that alley he wasn’t sure he was completely human anymore. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be completely human. 176
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Let them all be scared. Let them be afraid. He simply didn’t care. He didn’t give a shit what the world thought anymore. The only rules that mattered were the rules he set for himself and the rules she set for him, because she was his portal to freedom and immortality. He was just her fuck-toy, but he’d live forever. He moved his hand from her breast to the crux of her legs. He rubbed her through the leather. He felt her hands on the bare skin of his back and his chest where she’d pulled his shirt free and pushed it up. He could smell the unique scent of sweet olive that perfumed her skin. It flowed from her hair and surrounded him as he continued to kiss her. He pulled her up onto his thigh and she wrapped one leg around his hips. He pushed his arousal against her hipbone. He pulled back from her mouth and stared down at her. “Change for me,” he grated. “Right here. Change for me.” He needed to see the monster. He craved it. She smirked up at him. “So, you wanna see my teeth, Jack? Do you like my fangs?” He grinned down at her with pure lust burning in his green eyes. “Yeah. I wanna see your teeth. I love your fangs.” He kissed her again, purposefully nicking his lip on her sharp teeth. She lapped at his blood. “I love everything about you when you’re like this.” She moaned and held onto him. “Oh God, Jack! That’s why I need you!” There were tears, unshed and bright in her eyes. “You’re the only one who accepts me for what I am. You’re the only one who really wants me any more.” He drew back and stared at her. His demon lover, his Undead vampire mistress was on the verge of crying because she felt as much an outsider as he did. “I’ll always want you,” he promised her. He kissed her and forced her to slice her own lip. He sucked that blood greedily. “I don’t care what anyone thinks. I don’t care how crazy my life gets. I want you to be a part of it.” “I’m never going to let you go. I won’t let them send you away!” 177
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she swore. Uncaring of who saw them, she sank her fangs into the mark she’d made on his neck. She drank a tiny amount, just enough to make him gasp. “Mine. You’re mine. Forever.” He nodded. “Yours. Forever.”
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CHAPTER 16 HIGHWAY TO H ELL
New Orleans, Louisiana Wednesday, 11:53 a.m. March 5, 2003 “Glad you saw fit to join us today, Agent Niemczyk,” Special Agent in Charge John Marcus snarled. It was clear he was thoroughly pissed at his subordinate. “This habit you’ve developed of coming and going as you please has become completely unacceptable.” Jack set his briefcase on his desk and wondered if banging his head on the wall was acceptable behavior. He’d gotten back to his apartment as dawn was turning the sky pale and rosy. He’d had no sleep whatsoever since 5:00 a.m. the day before and had spent the night being far too active. He ached all over. Three Advil had barely taken the edge off of that pain and now his boss was sniping at him for being 179
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late. It didn’t matter that Jack normally worked sixteen-hour days or that he worked most weekends. Marcus was concerned because Jack wasn’t punching a frigging time clock at 8:00 a.m. Jack was tempted to punch SAC Marcus right in the face. “We have a briefing in about five minutes,” Marcus reminded him. “I know,” Jack said coolly. “That’s the only reason I’m here.” He wasn’t in the mood to put up with anything. And after last night, he didn’t particularly give a rat’s ass what Marcus thought. He found he didn’t particularly care what anyone thought. His life had taken an unimaginable swing for the better and if things went well, he was going to live forever. He grinned to himself and followed Marcus down the hall to the conference room. His smile faded as they approached the door. True, his future was as rosy as the morning sky had been, but his present was as dismal as the gray rain clouds pushing up from the Gulf. He knew Marcus was going to announce at the briefing that Jack was being “reassigned” and that thought bothered him. He wasn’t noted for being less than successful. As Baby had said, Jack was damned good at what he did and he didn’t like the thought of being so publicly branded a failure. Contrary to his thoughts a couple of weeks earlier, he didn’t want to abandon this case and he didn’t want to leave New Orleans. In fact, regardless of what happened today, he wasn’t leaving New Orleans. He had too much at stake to leave. A smart man didn’t walk away from a chance at immortality. He was staying even if he had to leave the Bureau to do so. He didn’t want to do that either. The Bureau had been his life for eighteen years. His mood was far less than pleasant as he took his place at the big fake oak conference table beside Remy Lambert. With seething anger he waited for his boss to announce oh-so-diplomatically that for all intents and purposes, Jack had been fired. Marcus kept busy waiting for the meeting to start doing 180
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introductions and being politically correct. Jack categorized it as sucking up and daydreamed about feeding his supervisor to Baby. That thought brought a slight smile to his face. He wondered for just an instant if she’d actually eat the SAC if he asked her to. He figured she would. It was a cheering thought. He watched Marcus move from person to person around the conference table. He had to admit Marcus had a good venue for his self-promotion. In addition to the highest-ranking members of the task force and leaders of a couple of civic groups, there was a U.S. senator, a state representative, and the mayor of New Orleans. Remy was there representing the police department and his wife was attending for the District Attorney’s office. Jack figured they were a good crowd to witness his humiliation. At the least Marcus was going to get a giggle out of it, Jack thought bitterly. The room filled quickly and most of the attendees were in place only fifteen minutes after the appointed time for the meeting to begin. “Not bad by U.S. government standards,” Jack sniped sarcastically to Remy. Lambert snorted and earned a dirty look from Marcus. Remy grinned ingenuously at the Special Agent in Charge. Jack smirked. There were times when he almost liked Lambert. “We should go ahead and start,” Marcus commented to Senator Comeaux. The senator shook his head. “Not everyone is here. I’d rather wait.” Another five minutes ticked away from Jack’s career. At least this was the private briefing and he could skip the public press briefing later. He had no wish to stand at a podium and be eaten alive by media sharks. He’d hole up at his house and let Jerod fend the media off until something else grabbed their attention and he became old news. Finally, despite the senator’s objections, Marcus would delay no longer. “Thank you all for finding time in your schedules for this briefing. As we begin, I’d like to announce some changes to…” The 181
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Special Agent in Charge was interrupted as the final latecomers arrived. Jack couldn’t contain his surprise or his grin as Baby and her three eldest sons sauntered into the conference room. He stood immediately, as did the senator and the mayor. Baby kissed the senator on the cheek. “I’m sorry we’re late, Charles. We had the Devil’s own time finding parking in the garage. There was plenty out in the open parking lot, but you know that just wouldn’t do.” Jack figured that was bullshit. She could have had Jerod drop her off at some nicely shaded entrance. For some reason she’d wanted to make an entrance. Well, she’d done that in her usual spectacular manner. She had the attention of everyone in the room. The senator laughed. “Indeed not. We can’t have any sunlight issues.” He obviously knew who and what she was. “And I’m always willing to wait for you, my dear. It’s always more than worth it.” He was perfectly at ease with the four killers. The same could not be said for the Special Agent in Charge. Jack took immense pleasure in the discomfort evident on Marcus’ face. The SAC liked being the focus of any meeting and somehow, the minute the vampires had walked in, that focus had shifted. It had to be making Marcus crazy. Jack was the first to admit the vampires were enough to make anyone uncomfortable. That indefinable presence all Alec’s family possessed was as strong in the day as it was at night. Power radiated from the vampires. They were worthy of the attention they were receiving and they were certainly impressive today. And they had obviously set out to achieve just that goal. Jack, familiar with their normal appearance, saw they had dressed specifically for this briefing. For a change, Baby was dressed appropriately for the occasion in an obviously expensive and rather demure power suit. Jack found he was slightly disappointed that she wasn’t being outrageous. He was surprised Beaumont was in a suit and tie and the Dealer could carry it off with such aplomb. He actually 182
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looked quite at ease, and if anything looked more attractive in business attire than he did in tight jeans and loud shirts. The Master’s third son, who Jack had met briefly at the party, was even more impressive. Rex Larson looked every bit as poised and confident as his siblings. At six-and-a-half-feet tall, the muscular black man filled any room. Jack was amazed a man with thin dreadlocks down to his waist could project so conservative an aura. Jean was as impeccably dressed as ever and easily dominated the room with his quiet authority. It was simple to tell he was the most powerful of the quartet, though he was the least flamboyant. Jack was exceptionally grateful when Jean held his hand out and shook Jack’s with a welcoming air. Jean and his mother might well be the only friendly faces in the room at the moment. “Prince Jean, it’s good to see you,” Jack said. “Lord Beaumont, Prince Rex, I hope you’re doing well.” He silently thanked Victoria for teaching him the proper ways to address the more notorious members of the Master’s family. René acknowledged Jack tersely, if with no less hostility than usual at least with no more. Rex nodded and went immediately to greet Remy and Margaret. Jack had heard they were friends from Rex’s breathing days. Jean smiled pleasantly. “Jack. It’s good to see you, too, mon ami.” Baby greeted the mayor and state representative with more formality than she had the senator, though with no less warmth. She obviously knew them at least professionally. She then turned a beaming smile on her pet. “Jack! I didn’t know you were going to be here, darling!” She took his hands and gave him a not-quite-chaste kiss on the lips. He was pretty sure she was lying. She had no doubt that he was going to be at this meeting. Jack caught a glimpse of the look of horror on his superior’s face and he grinned at his lover. “I didn’t know you were invited.” He 183
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allowed warmth, affection, and a touch of desire to color his tone. She grinned back. “We’re gonna have to start checking our appointment schedules together. If I’d known we had the same meeting, we could have ridden in together and saved you the trouble of dropping me off at the house this morning.” Her smile turned slightly evil. “I could have stayed at your place. Maybe we’d have gotten some sleep.” Jack couldn’t resist. “Oh, I seriously doubt if we’d have slept at all, Baby.” He was pushing it, but he didn’t care. Apparently, neither did she—approval beamed from her face. Jean laughed and René ignored the entire conversation. Marcus cleared his throat. If it was possible for him to be any more unhappy with Jack than he had been before the meeting, Jack had just managed to find that new level of irritation. “I don’t believe I’ve met your friends.” There was just enough hesitation over the word “friends” to elicit an eyebrow twitch from Jean and a curled lip from René. Jack’s glower matched Rex’s. It was Senator Comeaux who answered. “Ah, yes. You’ve been in New Orleans less than two years, Mr. Marcus. I forget that relative newcomers to the city may not know about you, my dear,” he said gently, addressing Baby before turning to the room at large. “For those who may not have had the honor, may I present Lady Baby Roxton, Consort to the Master of Louisiana. Lord Jean DuValliere, Crown Prince of New Orleans and the Master’s heir.” Jack was grinning again. The senator must have practiced this a few times. The sheer slickness of politicians always amused Jack. “Lord René Beaumont, Master of Alabama and North Florida and the Master’s second son. Prince Rex Larson, third son of Alec de Leon and Regent of Los Angeles. Prince Jean and Lady Roxton are here to represent the Master’s interests. Lord René is here to represent his sister’s interests since some of the victims’ bodies have been 184
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discovered in her territory of Mississippi. Prince Rex is a former law enforcement officer from here in New Orleans and has experience in these matters.” He grinned at the general assembly, but Jack could have sworn the smile was brighter when he looked at Baby. “I invited the family. Those of us who know them are aware how invaluable the Master’s assistance can be. He’s helped us with everything from emergency rescue after hurricanes to shutting down a white slavery ring operating out of Slidell. Besides, it only seemed proper that all portions of my constituency be represented properly.” Baby laughed. “Even demons vote, huh, Charles?” He laughed. “Forty-three-point-seven percent of them.” “Sixty-three-point-five percent in local elections,” the state representative countered. “They make up over ten percent of my supporters.” Father William O’Malley, representing the coalition of local religious leaders, shivered visibly at the implications of that statement, but smiled. Most of the room laughed, including Baby. She shifted gears. “You know Jack, don’t you, Charles?” she asked. When the senator explained that he only knew Jack in the most superficial professional way, she tsked. “The family has been working with Jack and Remy to solve this little problem you’ve got. The Master himself is involved.” Jack could tell that both Charles and the mayor were suitably impressed. “We’ve been quite pleased with the work they’ve both been doing.” She smiled and looked down where her fingers were still entwined with Jack’s. “I personally have been very impressed with Special Agent Niemczyk,” she said. Representative McMillan raised a questioning eyebrow. “Jack’s mine now,” she stated softly. Jack smiled broadly and rather darkly. “Yes, I am,” he agreed. “I have the mark to prove it.” Let Marcus figure that one out, Jack thought 185
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happily. Charles Comeaux looked at Jack in some surprise. “I’m sorry, Agent Niemczyk. I had no idea you were part of the family,” he said as the vampires seated themselves at the conference table. Baby motioned for Jack to sit beside her. Jack shrugged. “It’s recent.” He rather felt as though he’d just outed himself. He saw Remy take his wife’s hand and shake his head sadly. Jack felt a sudden rush of anger. How dare Lambert pity him? He glared at the pair. The mayor nodded. “It’s very good you’re involved in this investigation then. It’s always advantageous for the community to have the family’s help in these sorts of matters.” “I’m glad you feel that way, Jeff. The family feels Captain Lambert and Special Agent Niemczyk are handling this investigation in the proper fashion.” Baby turned hard eyes on the SAC. “In fact, had it not been for their initiative, the Master would not have been aware that his assistance was needed.” “Really? I was under the impression the family had been involved for some months,” Senator Comeaux stated with a perplexed expression. “No. Remy and Jack just contacted us a few weeks ago.” Baby frowned and Jack made a mental note to pursue that question. Why would the senator think that? “Shall we begin the briefing?” Marcus inquired. “I’m sure we all have very busy schedules.” He glared at Jack for an instant before pasting a false smile on his lips. “The current state of our investigation…” Jack grinned and listened as Marcus outlined the non-progress of the investigation in his flat Midwestern accent. Marcus mentioned nothing about a change in the hierarchy of the task force. *
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“Don’t think that little power play you just made will save you for long, Niemczyk,” Marcus grated. He had insisted Jack accompany the SAC to his office directly following the meeting. Marcus sat behind his desk while Jack was forced to stand like a supplicant before him. “Your days on this investigation are numbered.” “As you say, sir,” Jack said gently, but sedition showed in his face and body language. He focused on the University of Iowa diploma that hung on the wall just to the left of the SAC. He couldn’t look at Marcus. If he did, he’d punch him. “I mean it, agent.” Marcus sat down. “I haven’t been impressed with either your work or your attitude in regards to this case. I had better see some progress immediately or you’re gone. And your girlfriend won’t save you next time. Now get to work.” Jack gritted his teeth to keep the words that sprang to mind from gushing forth. “Yes, sir,” he said through clenched teeth. He opened the door to find former Assistant District Attorney Corwen Burns standing outside. Realization hit Jack. So this brownnosing son of a bitch was supposed to replace him? He paused with his hand on the half-opened door and addressed them both. “And as far as my girlfriend is concerned, I think you’ll find that I’ll be here as long as she wants me here.”
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CHAPTER 17 AN UNHOLY ALLIANCE
New Orleans, Louisiana Wednesday, 1:55 p.m. March 5, 2003 Remy and Gary Bowles were waiting for Jack at the Court of Two Sisters restaurant. So were Baby and Jean DuValliere. Jack raised an eyebrow. “Did he fire you?” Baby asked harshly as Jack joined them at the white-clothed table. Jack shook his head. “No, he just threatened again.” She nodded. “Good, then I don’t need to go and twist his head off.” She grinned. “Jean tends to get upset if I kill government employees.” The Prince smiled benignly. “I might make an exception in this case, cher belle. Mr. Marcus is amazingly annoying.” He took a sip of 188
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his coffee. Remy laughed. “Mais oui!” He smiled at the other lawman. “So what now, Jack?” Jack thought for a moment. “Now we start handling this investigation the way it should have been handled all along. Fuck Marcus. My days at FBI are numbered. I don’t have anything to lose, but I have a killer I really want to catch.” He looked at the assembly and realized this was his new task force, these were the people he’d have to use if he were going to stop a serial murderer. “Remy, Gary, you have a lot to lose if you throw in with me. This could end your careers.” Remy laughed. “I’m a New Orleans cop, Jack, and I’m clean. Those are few and far between. They ain’t gonna get rid of me.” “I’ll take care of Remy,” Baby said. “I still have some pull with the police department. I’ll see he’s okay.” Gary nodded. “I’m okay, too. If we get this guy, they won’t dare fire me. And if we don’t…well, I have no interest in working for Marcus any way.” Jack turned a searching gaze on the other agent. “You’re sure? You’ll risk it all to follow me?” Gary twisted his mouth into a half-grin. “Yeah. I will.” Jean smiled. “I’ll see that Special Agent Bowles doesn’t suffer from his assistance to the family, Jacques. We deeply value loyalty and see that it is rewarded accordingly.” Jack nodded. “All right then. Let me tell you what we really have so far and what we need to do.” Remy handed Jack his brief case and laptop. “Lady Roxton thought you might need those.” Jack grinned at them both. “Looks like we’re all going to work really well together.” Remy grinned back. Jack activated the computer while Baby poured his coffee and added a generous dollop of cream to it. Jean ordered Jack’s meal while 189
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Jack pulled up the files he wanted. They took care of everything so he was free to concentrate on the case. Jack looked at the list of deductions he’d made and considered them one more time. It really was past time to take serious action on this case. Screw the proper channels and the bureaucracy that bound normal investigations. Jack was no longer concerned about following proper channels. If he found this killer, Jack wasn’t worried about prosecuting him. He intended to turn the bastard over to Baby and the family. All Jack cared about was getting a killer off the streets. Since there’d been no progress in developing leads in the normal fashion, Jack intended to pursue the investigation any way he could. If that meant going rogue with the investigation and disobeying Marcus or pursuing leads through supernatural channels, so be it. Jean straightened his sunglasses. He and Baby were well protected from direct sunlight within the building, but the glare of daylight obviously bothered his eyes. They both wore dark shades. Jack added that tidbit to his vampire knowledge base. Jean stared out the restaurant window at the lavender wisteria hanging down from its famous arbor and thought for a moment. “What exactly have you determined isn’t in the reports I’ve already seen, bon ami?” Jack took a drink of the bourbon someone had ordered for him and wondered when he started drinking regularly in the middle of the day. New Orleans must be getting to him. He began to explain his findings to Jean. “It works this way. This UNSUB isn’t local. There are some interesting parallels in some cases from Seattle and Cedar Rapids. Several women fitting the victim profile and showing the same signature have been murdered over the last decade. To my mind that makes our killer a lot older than the profile from Quantico says he is. He’s also very sophisticated and shows a high maturity level in the way he handles all this. The victims are Caucasian or look Caucasian, so 190
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he’s probably white.” Remy and Gary both nodded their agreement as Jack continued. “The victims are middle-age or look middle-age. Though they’re highrisk victims and common prey for serial killers, they aren’t as weak or easy as the elderly or the very young. I’m thinking mid-forties at least.” Remy agreed. “I know age is the hardest thing to pin down, but I think you got that right. This isn’t a kid.” He grinned at Jack’s surprise. “Hey, I remember a few things from National Academy, you know.” Jack grinned back. He’d forgotten Remy had taken the eleven-week course that FBI offered to seasoned police officers. That was going to help. He continued with what he’d come up with. “Our killer is educated and employed at a good job. He’s organized, smart, and can fit in. He’s probably not the life of the party, but he’s not some stereotypical loser, either. He can function just fine in the real world. He’s had relationships with women, but I bet he’s not involved right now. And his other relationships ended because he’s too controlling.” Jack paused for breath and happened to meet Baby’s eyes. She’d placed her glasses atop her head, risking the daylight so she could focus better on him. Those golden orbs were glowing, full of rapt attention. They reminded him of the way he felt watching her hunt and he felt that bit of her emotions that let him know she was feeling the same way he did then. This was how he hunted and she was just as fascinated by the way he looked for criminals as he was by the way she hunted her prey. They really did have far more in common than he’d ever have imagined when he first saw her. Jack smiled at her and continued. “He owns an SUV and lives alone. He’s white collar and driven to be a success, but he never quite makes it. He may have a really good job, but he feels it isn’t what he deserves and not what he was expected to achieve. He may have been passed over for promotions repeatedly. He may even have suffered a demotion. And even if that’s not really the case, he feels like it is. He 191
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thinks he’s gotten the shaft.” Jack paused while food was placed on the table and waited for the server to leave. “He’s fixated on cleanliness and particular about how he looks. He demands a lot from the people around him.” Jack took a sip of coffee and his eyes went wide. It was wonderful. He’d never had better coffee anywhere. Baby grinned at him. “I come here just for the coffee but the food is really good, too,” she explained “I like your choice of meeting rooms a hell of a lot better than the ones at FBI,” he said with a grin and another drink from the creamy mixture in his cup. He thought for a moment before stating, “The main thing we have is how he’s moved across the country. He started in Iowa about eight years ago. Something happened, some stressor sent him out looking for a woman to kill. The first one I’ve been able to find was in Cedar Rapids. She was found partially clothed, her jeans, shoes, and panties removed and placed nearby. She’d been hit over the head with a pipe— it was found with her clothing. She died from the force of the blow. There was a quarter inch puncture wound to her carotid artery, but it was post-mortem and she didn’t bleed a great deal. There was damage around the wound consistent with suction. There was evidence of saliva, too.” Jack looked up from his notes. “He tried to suck her blood, but she was dead already and it didn’t work. He raped the corpse and here’s the clincher, he cleaned the entire genital area meticulously.” He smiled grimly. “Our boy’s first kill. He hadn’t figured out how to bash them on the head without killing them yet and he didn’t know how to get to their blood. The vampire part of his name is half-right. He wants to be one. He’s trying his damnedest. He’s drinking the blood he’s taking.” He took a deep breath. “He left no fingerprints and very little fiber evidence. There is DNA from the saliva and the rape.” He grinned. “And it matches the latest death here.” 192
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Remy blinked. “Why didn’t we know about this?” Jack shrugged. “I told Marcus late Friday. He said it just made the case worse. More victims, more years the UNSUB has been out killing and we’ve done nothing about it. He said he’d let everyone know in the regular weekly meeting Thursday. I haven’t talked to you since I found out.” Remy snorted. “Sounds like him. He never tells anyone anything. Or he passes it on to Burns and that jerk-off won’t talk to anyone that isn’t Federal.” Gary nodded. “What else haven’t those two told us?” “The Iowa killings were all pretty similar to the first one. All were found partially clothed with their heads bashed in with a pipe, hammer, or other blunt force weapon. All experienced post-mortem rape and all were cleaned afterwards. At that time he was using a heavy industrialstrength cleaner that’s available at any supermarket. There were indications he tried to drink the blood from all of his kills, but he hadn’t figured it out yet.” Jack smiled grimly. “He must have been frustrated as Hell.” He pushed his food around with his fork, but didn’t take a bite of the crab and crawfish pasta. “The kills there stopped a few months before the murders in Seattle started. But his MO changed a bit and so no one linked them up.” At a question from the Crown Prince, Jack compared the two kill patterns for Jean’s benefit. “The dead women in California were found nude. I think he was afraid he was leaving too much fiber evidence. He was still using a heavy duty cleaner, though his brand preference shifted. That was probably just because the new one was more easily available in California. And he figured out a new way to drain the body. These women still usually died from a blow to the head, but he managed to drain a lot of their blood afterwards. The forensics reports theorize he hung them upside-down, cut neat, precise little slits in their carotid arteries and jugular veins and let them drain that way. Messy 193
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but it seemed to work for him.” He shook his head. “The sicko washed the blood out of their hair afterwards.” He paused for a moment and Baby urged him to eat. He took a single bite before putting his fork down again. “What’s important is all of them were sexually assaulted after death, suffered exsanguination, and were meticulously cleaned. Like the Louisiana killings, all personal effects were removed from the bodies and they were dumped nude. His MO was developing. He was getting the hang of it. The California bodies were found in rural locations while the Louisiana and Iowa kills favored urban disposals, but I suspect that’s just convenience. The killer lived in the countryside outside Seattle, but it’s the same man. I’m sure of it. He moved to this area twenty to twenty-three months ago from California.” “His MO has become consistent. We’re looking for someone smart with a good knowledge of forensics. He either has a police or forensics background or is a real buff. Cleaning the bodies thoroughly the way he does destroys a lot of evidence. It even seems to wash away a lot of the scent your people could use to track him,” Jack said to the two vampires. “Interestingly enough, the cleansing has been even more thorough since he moved here. It’s pretty total now. And he’s been trying really hard to make it look like a vampire is the culprit. Almost as if he hoped to throw us off by making it look vampire-related.” “Almost as if he knew the Master might be looking for him,” Jean concluded. “That’s my thought. He knows about real vampires,” Jack said. “He knows you’re here and that you help the police sometimes.” Jack took a bite of his shrimp salad. “That also means he’s someone you probably have some contact with.” Jean snarled and his fangs flashed for just an instant. Someone was hunting and killing in Alec’s town without Alec’s permission, and no one flaunted Alec’s law without dealing with Jean DuValliere. 194
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Jack saw that glimpse of fang and wondered what Jean would look like without the handsome façade of his humanity. He wondered what the monster beneath Jean’s calm exterior was like. Was it terrifyingly violent like Baby’s or was it completely different? He knew Jean had a reputation for passion and sexual profligacy second to no one in the city. He could understand how so many people had succumbed to the Cajun’s charms—Jean was an astoundingly attractive man. Some indefinable thing about Jean drew people to him. For just an instant, Jack wondered what Jean’s blood-drenched lips would taste like. He shook off the thought and returned his attention to the problem at hand. He had to stop thinking like a real vampire and think like a fake one. “I don’t think he has good knowledge of the area outside metropolitan New Orleans. I think that’s why he’s dumping the bodies mostly here in town. If he gets out in the swamps and bayous, he’s lost. This place probably scares him as much as it does me.” Jean laughed. “I don’t think much of anything scares you, Jack.” Jack took another drink. “Your daddy scares me.” “That just proves you’re smart, mon ami.” Jean grinned. He stared out at the courtyard for a few minutes. “So we have someone who knows about vampires and our social structure here in New Orleans. He knows how the police operate, too.” He sighed. “That narrows it down to a few hundred people.” Jack shook his head. “I think the fact that he knows about the Master is significant.” Jean smiled sadly. “Just because you didn’t know about us doesn’t mean that most of the police in this city don’t. We’re fairly well known. Your boss and most of your task force know about us.” Jack conceded the point. He finished his drink and signaled for another. “I just feel like I’m so close. I almost have the puzzle. I know there’s only a piece or two missing. I can’t figure out how he drains the bodies so completely. Alec said that even one of you couldn’t get that much blood out of a body. What could suction a body dry?” 195
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Jean went very still, his fork paused in midair. “Mon Dieu! I know how he does it!” All eyes at the table turned to him as he sat his fork back down on his plate, his morsel of food untouched. “He’s using the same kind of machine they use in mortuaries. They use it to draw out all the blood and replace it with embalming fluid.” Even Baby’s face screwed up in distaste. Jack was pretty sure he didn’t want to know how Jean came by that esoteric bit of knowledge. Gary grinned excitedly. “There can’t be that many of those things sold in a year. So if I go back and find out who bought one two years ago in either California or Louisiana, we may have a good lead.” Remy nodded enthusiastically. “Maybe our first real one.” He grinned at Jack. “Looks like you may make SAC Marcus’ day a whole lot gloomier, fils.” Jack thoroughly appreciated the look of impish glee that settled over the Cajun’s face. “Yeah, that boy’s gonna be really unhappy with us.”
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CHAPTER 18 AND A TIME TO E VERY P URPOSE UNDER H EAVEN
New Orleans, Louisiana Tuesday, 1:24 a.m. March 18, 2003 Jack rolled from Baby’s body to lie beside her. “You do that really well, Jack,” she gasped. He grinned. “So I’ve been told.” She didn’t have to see him. She could hear the smirk in his voice. “Repeatedly.” She laughed and settled herself in his embrace. She habitually remained in his arms now instead of returning to the night. And if she did hunt afterwards, he accompanied her more often than not. She told him she was in no hurry tonight. Alec was in Kalamazoo or some equally God-awful place and wouldn’t be back for days. She’d spend 197
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the night here with Jack and sleep the day away in the big four-poster bed she’d bought for him, its rich cherry finish nearly the color of her hair. After several long minutes of listening to his heartbeat slow and return to normal, she spread her hand over his chest. “What are you thinking about, lover? You’re a million miles away.” “No not really, I’m still in New Orleans,” he answered. “I was thinking about the killer. I don’t think I’ll get the chance to catch him. Marcus is threatening to remove me from the case again. It’s been two weeks and my progress doesn’t please him.” Baby frowned. “We’ve been over this. I told you that you’re not leaving town until I say you are.” “Oh, I’m not leaving town,” he agreed. “But I might be leaving the Bureau.” She didn’t like the sadness he was trying to hide. “I won’t let them do that to you, baby, even if I have to eat him to stop him.” Jack laughed as she continued, “Seriously, I have some friends. I won’t let him fire you. A few well-placed campaign donations can accomplish near-miracles, darling.” Jack laughed but quickly sobered. “I think it’s more likely he’ll drive me to resign.” Jack sighed and shifted slightly and pulled her cool body closer to his. It was odd, he’d never thought of her as comforting before. “I walked in today to find him reading the papers on my desk, including the profile I’ve built. He wasn’t pleased, either. Said I was wasting time trying to redo what Quantico had already done. That I was wasting the Bureau’s time pursuing my own agenda instead of working on the investigation he and Quantico had lined out. He said I should leave it to the experts.” He knew she could feel his anger. It boiled orange and purple within him. Bitter and biting, it gnawed at his insides. “God damn it! I am an expert. I am a recognized authority in the field! I’m sick of him treating me like I’m some habitual screw-up straight out of training.” 198
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“Jack,” she said softly as she caressed one of his bruises. “I don’t know what his problem is, but I wasn’t lying when I said that I feel you are our best chance of solving this. I’ll support you in this. I’ll insist you act as the family’s liaison on the task force. I’ll see you get whatever you need to solve it. And you will solve it whether you’re with the Bureau or not. The killer will mess up and you’ll be on him in a second.” Jack kissed the top of her head. “I wish I felt that confident. But you’re right. The only way I’m going to catch him is for him to mess up.” He sighed. “Gary’s still working on the embalming machine angle. He has about a dozen leads, but you can bet our boy was smart enough to use a drop box and an alias. Remy’s working on honing down our suspect list. He’s gotten rid of about sixty percent of it, but I still doubt if our UNSUB is even on there.” Jack laughed painfully. “He might be better off to take the employment lists for every police and prison department in Greater New Orleans and whittle it down.” He couldn’t stop the bile that tinted his words. “Jack, don’t take this so hard,” Baby said. He got up and closed the curtains against the glow of the full moon. He didn’t want see it. It was more than he could tolerate right now. “I can’t help it. I know I’m close. I just know it. Why can’t I see that last piece? Why is it just out of my reach?” He climbed back into bed and held her close. “I don’t know, honey. I don’t know of anything else that you can do. No one could have done more than you already have.” Jack’s hold on her was crushing. “I wish I felt that way. All I know is he’s out there somewhere tonight.” He buried his face in her gently scented hair and blinked back tears. “Some woman is going to die and I didn’t stop it. Some innocent girl is going to pay because I didn’t do my job.” “Honey. It’s not your fault.” She kissed him gently. “It really isn’t.” Jack laid his head on her pale, cool breast and let the sobs he had 199
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been resisting come. He held her tight enough to crack a normal woman’s ribs and let his pain have reign for just a few moments. No person living had seen Jack Niemczyk cry since he was child. His father had drilled that into his head. Real men were strong; they didn’t cry. Jack had to be strong. He had to be an example to his brothers and sister. This feminist bullshit about a sensitive man was just that and Jack wasn’t to pay it any attention. There wasn’t anything that should make a man cry except the death of his mother or his children. Well, Jack figured in this like so much else, his father was wrong. The uncalled-for, undeserved deaths of over forty women were enough to make any man cry. The inability to stop their killer was enough to bring tears to a man’s eyes and destroy his soul a piece at a time. It was enough to eat his insides out and leave him barren and alone. Jack had never felt so empty in his life. Strong hands lifted his head and golden eyes looked into his. He felt a stirring in the back of his mind and the brush of another’s consciousness. For a moment, clear and ringing, he felt her inside his head. “I believe in you. Don’t you dare give up on me.” He looked at her in shock. “You’re not alone, Jack,” she said, both with her lips and with her mind. “You’ll never be alone again, not until I burn into dust and ashes. You’re part of me now and you always will be.” She smiled and he saw fangs gleaming in the darkness. “You’ll find this son of a bitch and I’ll teach him what being a vampire really is.” He felt sharp pin pricks scrape against his neck as she turned him onto his back. Her weight settled pleasantly atop him. “He won’t like those lessons one little bit.” That twin sharpness settled just above his clavicle. “No, but I will,” he answered, and tangled his hand into her hair, pushing her face against him. There was a moment of exquisite pain as her fangs sank deep into his muscle, scraping against his collarbone before she began to feed from him. Deep in his mind he heard her declaration and claiming. 200
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“Mine!” He pressed her head more tightly against the jointure of his neck and shoulder. “Yours. Forever.” *
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New Orleans, Louisiana Tuesday, 11:54 p.m. March 18, 2003 Rage, pure and magnesium bright, burned through John. That peon, that common, base piece of immigrant trash had destroyed his plans! His perfect, flawless agenda had been disrupted by that arrogant, gloryseeking worm! He flung his autopsy table on its side, the sound of metal on concrete ringing through the old gas station. Everywhere he went last night, there had been patrols and now the storm kept his prey inside, away from his needy hands. And his own freedom was in jeopardy. He knew it. That, that puppy was nipping at his heels. Well, Niemczyk would find out what it meant to get too close and have those heels he was nipping at crush him. John tossed a gallon of disinfectant against the wall, the plastic bottle splitting and the liquid spilling out with a glug-glug noise to run toward the floor drain. “That should be blood. It should be Niemczyk’s blood,” John snarled. He flung himself into the driver’s seat of his Expedition. “And it will be. Before the sun comes up tomorrow, I’ll watch that bastard bleed out.” *
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New Orleans, Louisiana Wednesday, 1:18 a.m. March 19, 2003 201
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Jack stared out the big picture window. It was raining again and he was distracted from the view of his wind-tossed garden by watching the patterns the rivulets formed as they raced from pane to pane. Baby had left at midnight, refusing to allow him to join her. She was out there somewhere, racing the storm. He could picture her now, soaked to the skin with her hair clinging to her face like the rivulets on his windowpanes. Only her hair would look like wine rather than water. He longed to be there in the wild night with her rather than in this nearly empty house she had given to him. Oh, it was a fine house and he was immensely pleased with it. Of the many reasons he loved the house, this room was the primary one. She told him she’d bought this house because she knew he’d like the study. She was wrong. He didn’t just like it, he adored it. It was beyond perfect. A beautifully constructed spiral staircase in one corner wound up to the matching wrought iron gallery that circled the room. Three sides of the gallery were covered with hardwood shelves where his books and objets d’art were displayed. The fourth side opened onto his bedroom on the second floor. It probably said a great deal about Jack that only his study and his bedroom were unpacked, though he’d been in the house for weeks now. He didn’t care. He could and practically did live in just these two rooms. As far as he was concerned, the rest of the house was just window dressing. He’d get to them eventually or let Baby handle it. He didn’t really care. Though most of the rooms were unfurnished, he hadn’t bothered to send for his things. The furniture from his Chicago apartment wouldn’t look right here. He was going to end up selling most of what he owned. Little of it fit his new lifestyle or viewpoint. For the first time in his life he had the money to do whatever he wanted. He smiled just a touch. Actually, Baby had the money to do whatever he wanted. He had to admit that she kept him well—designer suits personally tailored just for him, expensive cufflinks, watches, and 202
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tie tacks, a sporty Bentley Azure, and now this large house in the middle of the Garden District. He smiled. She’d promised to take good care of him and she’d never failed him in that or any other regard. It was all very nice and he accepted it gladly, discovering he had no qualms whatsoever about being a kept man, but he’d give it all away just to hunt the night with her. He sighed and stared out at the darkness he longed for. Finding no comfort in the storm, he eventually turned from the rain-distorted view and settled into his desk chair. He stared at his computer, checking his data, running through it all one more time. If he was going to suffer from insomnia, he might as well get some work done. Twenty minutes later when the electricity failed, he had made no progress. He didn’t bother to get up and light any candles, the battery on the laptop kept it going and that was all he needed. He continued scrolling through evidence. There was nothing different from the hundred other times he had looked at it. He gave up and pulled up some files he hadn’t had a chance to look at. In a fit of boredom, he’d requested information on several people he probably shouldn’t have. But he didn’t care. The files had come back, but he had yet to read them. Now was as good a time as any. He listened to the wind slap the rain against his window and tried to find out as much as he could about the people who had now become central to his life. Alec De Leon appeared sporadically over the last half-century or so. He seemed to have settled in New Orleans sometime around 1975. There was nothing about him prior to that year in Louisiana. The records were incomplete and revealed little, but Jack hadn’t expected to find out even that much. Jack stared at the next file. It was Baby’s. He couldn’t decide if he actually wanted to know this way. Maybe he should just accept for now and wait for Baby to tell him her history in her own time. Little by little she was revealing her life to him. It was good to have her trust. He deleted the file without opening it. Jack would have to pursue who 203
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Baby really was another time. Besides he didn’t really want to lose a body part if she found out he was digging into her past. He opened a new file. Jean was pretty much what Jack had expected. In life, Jean Claude DuValliere had never had as much as a parking violation. Jack had seldom seen a record of a more upstanding citizen. Jean had married young, helped put himself through college with scholarships and part-time jobs. He’d worked hard, hoping for tenure at Tulane. Jean was remembered as a good husband and father and an adequate academician. He sounded utterly boring. Sadly, even his death was not unusual. He’d been stabbed by a druggy who wanted Jean’s wallet. Dozens of people died daily in muggings and robberies so some addict could get one more fix. Jean was just another statistic. The Prince was far more interesting in death than he’d ever been in life. René Beaumont was another story entirely. It seemed the Dealer really was a dealer. René was a habitual offender and probably would have ended up spending most of his life in jail. He had a rap sheet a mile long with convictions, arrests, and incarcerations for everything from assault and battery to possession of drugs and weapons to prostitution. Now that was a shock. Jack never would have pegged Beaumont for a whore. Death certainly seemed to have changed him. Jack wondered again at the Dealer’s relationship to his own lover. There was something very unusual there and Jack longed to figure it out. According to the report, Beaumont had died as violently as he lived. His murder was still listed as unsolved, but Jack bet that the family had dealt with that killer long ago. Alive Beaumont had been nothing but a small-time hood. Dead he helped control most of the crime in the Southeast. Jack shook his head at the vagaries of life and death and continued reading. John Corwin Burns had been a prick his entire life, Jack decided. The son of a California senator, he’d attended the best private schools, gone to an Ivy League college, and was all set for a political career 204
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when something upset Daddy’s applecart. There was no specific reason given, but a little over fifteen years earlier, Senator Burns had lost all favor with his party’s supporters. Without proper backing, he hadn’t been reelected and now practiced law in a small north California town. Burns the younger also suffered from his father’s downfall and his budding political career was nipped. Jack had been momentarily excited to discover that Burns was from California, but he’d been in Louisiana for five years and in Houston for the five years before that. He wasn’t the killer. With a sigh, Jack closed that file, too. He paused for just a moment before opening the next record. He decided it didn’t matter. If caught, he was already in as much trouble as he could be just for requesting it. The Bureau had rules about what even agents with Jack’s security clearance should and shouldn’t see. He didn’t care. He opened the file. What he read sent him scrambling for his cell phone. “Come on! Answer! Pick up the damned phone!” he snarled as he paced beside his desk. “Remy! Thank God… Stop complaining. Shut up and listen to me! I know who the killer is!… Lambert! Shut up and listen for a change! It’s John Marcus!… Look, he moved here from California twenty-two months ago. He had a house in a rural area right in the middle of the kill zone… No, I am not stretching it just because I don’t like him… No, we won’t talk about this in the morning. We’re going to talk about this now!… Lambert! Don’t you dare hang up on me! Lambert! God damn it!” He held the phone out and snarled at it. His next curse was cut short by the gun barrel pressed to his temple. “That’s really unfortunate,” John Marcus said. “Looks like I’m a little too late.” Jack took a deep breath. “Looks that way.” “I knew I was in trouble when they added you to the Task Force. That profile I read yesterday just proved the point.” Marcus shook his head. “It’s a shame you’re such an arrogant prick. I might have let you go otherwise. I don’t like killing brother agents.” 205
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“Then don’t,” Jack said levelly. Fuck. He’d had immortality in his grasp and this son of a bitch was going to take it all away. Jack hoped he could come back and haunt Marcus. He surreptitiously pushed a couple of buttons on the phone, one hand covering the speaker to muffle the sound of dialing. He prayed the call went through. “Sorry. I’m afraid I have to. Well, actually, I want to,” Marcus sneered. “I really hate you.” Jack nodded. “I imagine you do. People usually hate people they envy.” He gestured to the desk. “Have a drink and tell me your plan.” The SAC shook his head. “Nothing big. Just kill you and get out of the country before they find your body tomorrow.” “Good plan,” Jack said. “It’s what I’d do.” Jack thought for a moment. “Actually no, I’d go straight to my girlfriend. She’s good at getting rid of bodies and evidence. She’d help me out.” Jack was frantically thinking of what he could do, but nothing was coming to him. “You know she’s going to be really pissed off if you kill me. She’ll hunt you down herself. She won’t give up. She has a reputation as one stubborn bitch.” “So I’ve heard. Luckily, she’s going to have no idea where I’m going.” Marcus pushed the gun a little harder against Jack’s head. Jack could tell Marcus really wanted to prolong this, but didn’t know how much time he dared to take. Jack snarled. “That doesn’t matter. She’ll find you. She’s smart and she’s wealthy. That’s a combination that will get you almost any results you want.” “Just like being smart and not caring who or what you fuck will get you just about anything you want, huh?” It was Marcus’ turn to sneer. “Nice house you got here, Niemczyk.” “Nice car in the garage, too,” Jack replied. “And I didn’t get them for being smart, though I’m sure that helped. I got them for being the best fuck in the city.” Jack grinned. “That demon girl thinks I’m the best thing she’s ever had between her legs.” His grin turned hard. “And 206
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you shouldn’t sneer too much; you like dead girls, too. Only difference is mine can give her consent. I don’t have to rape to get some ass.” “You arrogant mother-fu…” Marcus’ curse turned to a shriek as Baby forced his gun up and away, crushing his fingers in her inhumanly strong grip. Jack was lifted off his feet and deposited safely out of the path of any bullets. He stared into the smiling face of Jean DuValliere. “You like to play too hard, bon ami.” “I’ll have to agree with you, Prince Jean.” Jack looked at his superior officer. Marcus was on his knees, nearly crying as Baby slowing crushed the bones in his hand. “She got my call then?” “Mais oui,” Jean answered. “And I got one from Remy Lambert. He heard just enough before he was cut off to be very concerned about you. So he called me. I imagine he’s on his way here now.” Jean tilted his head as he considered the Vieux Carré Vampire. “You were very lucky Maman and I were very nearby, Jacques du coeurs. Otherwise, we would not have reached you in time.” Jack grasped the drink that sat on his desk. “I didn’t think anyone was going to. I just hoped you’d hear enough to catch my killer.” He downed the contents of the glass and tried to breathe normally again. Jean shook his head. “You really are quite unique, Jacques.” “I could have told you that,” Baby said and curled her lip at Marcus. “What do you want to do with him, darling?” Jack sat down shakily and thought for several moments as the fact that he was still alive and was going to stay that way for at least the immediate future bled into his consciousness. “I don’t know. I want to watch you rip him to shreds,” he said, and enjoyed it when Marcus turned white. “But I also want the world to know he’s a piece of shit.” “I think you should arrest him and build a good enough case to convict him,” Jean said forcefully. “Your reputation will be enhanced and you’ll be back in favor with your people, oui?” “I agree,” Baby said, much to Jack’s surprise. “Besides, I imagine 207
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Mr. Marcus is going to plead guilty.” She lifted the SAC’s head so he was forced to look at her. “Because if he doesn’t, I will find him the minute he’s released and I will take my own dear time about killing him.” She smiled sweetly at the Vieux Carré Vampire. “I’ll do things to you that you never even dreamed possible, boy. It’ll take me months to kill you.” Her eyes blazed yellow in the lamp light. “Did Jack tell you that I’m the Vigilante? You should be familiar with what I do to rapists.” “No!” Marcus protested. “I served you! I did everything I was supposed to do. I followed the rules. I was supposed to become one of you. She said so!” “She?” Jean asked with little apparent interest. “My wife. She became one of you. I saw the wounds. I saw the way she died. I heard her whispering outside my window. She said if I just followed the rules I’d be like she was.” Jack looked from Marcus back to his computer. “His wife was murdered. It could very well have been a vampire, but I seriously doubt if she came back and told him anything. She was autopsied within days. They removed her internal organs including her heart to weigh them.” Jean cocked his head to one side. “She didn’t come back then. That’s one way to make sure someone doesn’t walk.” Jack nodded. “So I’ve been told.” He snorted faintly. “On top of that, the body was cremated.” He shook his head and stared at Marcus. “I guess he saw something, though. Maybe he saw her killer. I don’t know what seeing a real vampire might do to someone who was borderline. If it had been me, I’d have gone hunting and tried my damnedest to wipe every one of them off the map. Looks like Johnny here decided to try and be one.” “I will be one! I almost am one already,” Marcus snarled. He looked up at the vampire holding him by his maimed hand. “I know the truth! I found the one who claimed my wife. I found his fingerprints, found a mug shot. He was eighty years old and looked like a kid. The 208
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records said he died in the Chicago gang wars, but he was still alive. You live forever. I know it. You kill and take their lives and live forever. And I’ll be like you. I just need a few more lives. Just a few and I’ll rule the night. Then I’ll kill thousands. I’ll take all the women I want. Their bodies and their lives will be mine. I’ll live forever!” “No, you won’t,” Baby said with a soft, wicked smile. “But Jack will.” She let her face change. “I’ve chosen him to be mine. He’s worthy of eternity.” She tossed Marcus against the foot of the stairs as easily as a child would toss a rag doll. “You’re not worthy to clean the mud off my boots.” She strolled to where he lay and plucked Marcus from the stairs. “You’ll spend the rest of your life in jail getting old and withering away.” Jack could see that prospect terrified Marcus every bit as much as the vampire before him. Baby wasn’t a half-bad psychologist herself. “You’ll never touch a woman again. Jack and I will see to that. The only women you’ll even see will be corrections officers.” She squeezed his crotch so tightly Marcus cried out in pain. “And if by some miracle you get out, I’m gonna rip your balls off with my bare hands.” Jack couldn’t help grinning at the wet patch that bloomed and covered the front of Marcus’ pants. *
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Remy and three uniforms burst into the room just as Jack finished reading a handcuffed John Marcus his rights. There was no one in the room but the two men. “How the hell did you take him down?” one of the uniformed police officers asked. “Remy said he had a gun on you!” “He did.” Jack shrugged. “I was just lucky. I had a couple of guardian angels.” Remy nodded looking at the puddles on the hardwood floor. Someone had come in from the storm and stayed long enough to bleed pools of rainwater onto the fine parquet. “Those angels, they good 209
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friends to have around,” the Cajun said thickly. He stared hard at Jack. “I don’t like thinking of what would have happened if you hadn’t been involved with those vam…angels. Maybe I was wrong about you being so close to them.” He sniffed. “Maybe you need to stay close to them.” “I intend to,” Jack said and sat down at his desk. “Regardless of what you or anyone else thinks about it, I intend to stay as close to them as I possibly can.”
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EPILOGUE D ANCING IN THE D ARK
New Orleans, LA Tuesday, 10:13 a.m. May 27, 2003 Baby adjusted her sunglasses and leaned against the doorframe. “Nice office. Way too many windows,” she observed. She ignored the other people in the room. Jack grinned. “It’s supposed to be a perk of being the guy in charge. Hang on a second.” He closed the blinds and pulled heavy draperies across them. “Now that’s not standard Federal issue,” she said as she sauntered in and sat down on the edge of his desk. Her mini skirt rode up scandalously, exposing several inches of snowy skin. “Nope,” his grin broadened. “I added them just for you.” He 211
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stepped in front of her and placed her knees on either side of his legs. He rubbed the leather-covered sides of her knees. He loved it when she wore thigh-high boots. He loved it when she was outrageous. “You’re up late.” “I was bored and couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d see if you had some time to play.” She tucked her sunglasses away in a miniscule handbag and hooked her fingers in his belt loops, pulling him closer. “Do you?” Her voice dripped with sensual promise. He didn’t even look at the four other agents seated in his new office. “Get out,” he said without preamble. Wilson, Bowles, and Calzonetti immediately stood and began to troop out with nods and “ma’ams” in Baby’s direction. “Boys,” Baby said by way of greeting and dismissal. The fourth agent observed their actions with a perplexed frown. “But sir, Washington wants the report on that field operation right away.” “Fuck Washington,” Jack said pleasantly as he began unbuttoning Baby’s blouse. Bowles paused on his way out. “Agent Miller, we should leave now.” Baby grinned and looked down at Jack’s hands in mock disappointment. “That’s different. I wore a cheap blouse just so you could shred it, honey. But it looks like you’re all calm today, Jackie.” “Not at all, but give me half an hour and I’ll have a reason to be calm,” he said. He finished undoing the button he was working on before purposefully ripping open her shirt the rest of the way scattering buttons across the room. She gasped and he grinned. He liked it when he could surprise her. One button rebounded off Agent Miller’s forehead. Baby laughed deep in her throat. “Now that’s my Jackie.” She pulled him to her lips. Bowles grabbed Miller’s arm. “We really need to leave right now.” 212
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His eyes were large and frightened. “Whenever Lady Roxton visits, we leave.” He tugged her toward the door. Just outside the door, Calzonetti shook his head and whispered to Wilson. Jack could hear them. He’d discovered that his senses were becoming quite acute. “What are we gonna tell the new assistant there?” “Nothing,” Agent Wilson answered emphatically. “We’re not gonna tell her a damned thing.” “But you know she’s gonna have questions,” Calzonetti warned. “We need to get our stories together.” Wilson looked at Amanda Miller. “Yeah, she will. But what are we gonna tell her? Oh, don’t worry about it, agent. She’s actually the vampire queen of New Orleans and he’s her Pet?” Vinnie Calzonetti saw his point. “Yeah. She wouldn’t believe us anyway.” Jack grinned at Baby and saw his amusement reflected in her eyes. She’d been completely supportive the whole time he’d worked through the media circus surrounding Marcus’ arrest and encouraged him to stay with the Bureau and press for a posting in New Orleans. He halfsuspected she’d ordered Senator Comeaux to drop a not-so-subtle hint to the Director of the FBI that Jack be given the SAC job. If so, she’d never said anything, just assured Jack he’d gotten the job because he deserved it. Jack decided to stop worrying about it and just enjoy kissing his demon lover with complete abandon. He could practically hear Vinnie shiver. “I never would have thought it.” Wilson added his agreement to the sentiment. “He sure isn’t what I thought he was.” As Jack tipped Baby back so her head thudded against the desk blotter, Wilson said loudly, “Let’s get out of here!” Bowles practically pushed Miller out the door and closed it with a loud click. He was breathing as though he’d been chasing a felon for blocks. Through the closed panel Jack heard them gasp as there was a 213
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resounding crash and Baby said, “Oh yes, Jack! Make it hurt, baby!” “Crossing yourself isn’t gonna help anything, Calzonetti,” Bowles said. “You’re just going to make her mad. Do you want her to pull your head off?” “I don’t feel well,” Wilson asserted. Bowles sighed. “We got to talk to him about getting soundproofing on his office. That’s all there is to it.” “Definitely,” Wilson agreed. Jack could almost feel Amanda Miller’s open-mouthed stare. “He’s actually… I mean they’re really going to… Oh my God!” “Don’t worry about it, Agent,” Bowles said, patting her shoulder. “I look at it this way—Niemczyk isn’t a bad boss. He’s damned good at catching perps. He lets us do our jobs. So if he wants to screw his girlfriend twice a week at the office, I ain’t gonna say a damn thing.” “Not that he’d listen any way,” Wilson observed. “You need to understand a couple of things about the Special Agent in Charge. Jack Niemczyk does what he wants to and he doesn’t listen to any one.” “Except Lady Roxton,” Calzonetti added. “He listens to her.” Bowles nodded. “So you do what he tells you to and you stay out of his private life. Believe us, you don’t want to know about his private life.” Their voices began to fade as he led her away from the SAC’s office. “There are some things in this world it’s just better not to know.” Baby’s laughter rang out and Jack chuckled deeply as his subordinates’ voices died away. “Yeah.” He kissed her again, her lips cool against his. The feel of cool lips on his body now populated his dreams each night. “But there are some things you just have to know. You have to take that risk. Some times you have to take a chance because some things are just worth it.” She grinned up at him. “You were. You were definitely worth taking a chance on.” “I hope I paid off for you,” he said. He reached over and flipped on 214
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the radio. He’d spare his office some embarrassment. “Oh, you more than paid off, Jackie,” she answered. “I can’t begin to explain to you how much I need to have you around, FBI.” He breathed deeply, pulling the scent of her perfume into his lungs. Even when he hadn’t liked her, he’d like that smell. “Well, you sure as Hell paid off for me,” he said. “And I don’t mean the house and the car and the money.” He sucked hard on her smooth, white skin. Maybe his mark would last for an hour if he were lucky. She sighed her pleasure against his hair. “I know, baby. Those things don’t mean much of anything to you. That’s just one more reason why you’re perfect for me.” He felt a burst of approval and need through the bond he had to her. It grew stronger daily. Sometimes he could feel her even when she was miles away. She lived inside him now and he knew he lived inside her. He answered with the rush of his own desire and acceptance. She gasped in pleasure. “My Jackie,” she moaned appreciatively. “Mine.” He smiled as her eyes began to glow and her face began to change. “Yours. Forever.”
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T. D. M CKINNEY
T. D. McKinney was probably born with eclectic tastes. Growing up on the American Gulf Coast, she gained a great appreciation for all things Southern and a fascination with what the community around her termed the “War of Northern Aggression.” Frequent trips to New Orleans to visit relatives instilled an early love for that city and for the Cajun culture; one of her earliest memories is viewing Mardi Gras parades when she was three years old. She freely admits that at the tender age of six she fell in love with both Barnabus Collins of Dark Shadows’ fame and Jonny Quest’s scientist-father, Benton Quest. Sherlock Holmes followed soon after as one of the great abiding interests of her life. These early influences doubtless explain a great deal about the author and her writings. There is very little she doesn’t find interesting, whether it’s art, music, history, vampires, web design, or forensic science. Everything is there to be explored, investigated, and attempted at least once. This trait often carries over into her writing. She loves exploring characters that are not afraid to take a risk or step outside the constraints of society or family. And if the character doesn’t want to take that chance, she likes creating situations that require they do so. Her two freshman offerings from Amber Quill Press perfectly express her eclectic nature. Dancing In The Dark is a dark romantic fantasy combining her love and life-long study of vampires with the hard reality of criminal profiling. My Secret Yankee (co-authored with Aimée Masion) is an American Civil War historical romance set in
Union-occupied New Orleans, that explores cultural and class differences and what happens when people from different worlds collide. T. D. lives in the Dallas-Fort Worth area of north Texas with her husband and young daughter. Artist, author, career woman, web designer, mother, and wife, she manages to keep busy. In her spare time, she shares her husband’s interest in collecting swords, vampires, the internet, science fiction, and all things Japanese. You can email T. D. at tdm@tdmckinney.com or visit her website at www.tdmckinney.com.
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