Vampire Games

Page 8

“It could have been much worse. But I don’t particularly want to drag her into something new, even if she was at 100 percent. It takes a while to fully recover from something like that—more than just healing from physical wounds. If we get something that we need a sensitive for, I’ll consider it. But not unless we have something solid for her to check out.”
I suppressed the urge to yank on my hair out of pure frustration. “Let’s pull the OWEA file, then—in full.”
“Pulling the file will leave a trace. A trace that’ll lead right to your door.”
The file would lead right to Parker’s door, more likely, since I still didn’t have clearance. Or right to my supervisor’s door, because Bill would probably pull it for me if I asked. “Well, it’s a damn sight more likely to lead us somewhere—unlike paying off your giant friend. And how likely is it that someone would be looking for that exact file to be pulled?”
“It’s not unlikely. You said yourself there were few cases similar to this one. If he has someone in the OWEA, he’ll be looking to monitor similar cases.”
The smell of the food finally overwhelmed my determination to ignore it until this was settled. I grabbed the chicken fried rice and scooped some onto the plate Claude had set out for me. A thought hit me as I reached for the beef and broccoli, and I stopped, my hunger suddenly less important. “Claude, does this guy know his brand is missing?”
“No.”
“How can you be sure?”
He took a bite of chicken—to buy himself time, no doubt.
“Look, did you actually just happen upon this somewhere? Or will he have reason to think someone took it? Will he suspect you?” Questions ran through my head faster than I could verbalize them. If this vampire—one who was obviously powerful and strong if he’d evaded Claude for who-knew-how-long—realized that someone was collecting evidence against him, it wouldn’t take him long to figure out who. And that put both Claude and me in danger.
He ran a hand through his hair, arm muscles pressing against the confines of his T-shirt. “Nicolas owns a cabin in Wisconsin—technically it’s owned by a dead acquaintance of his, to keep anyone from connecting it to him, I’m sure. It’s very isolated.”
“How did you find out about it?”
He grinned wryly. “The old-fashioned way: police work. Research. Talking to people on the ground, looking through old records.”
“Go on.”
“I went there when I knew Nic would be out of state. I brought my partner, Astrid, with me. She said the place had been cleaned—psychically. And the only thing she could sense anything on was the brand. It had been stuck in a bin with the fireplace tools.”
Shit. This was starting to feel a lot riskier to my job than I’d thought. “You broke in? Stole it?”
His eyes met mine, and my chest tightened. Why did he still have such an effect on me? We hadn’t been anything to each other in years—even if we had only been casual lovers enjoying each other’s company then.
“Yes.”
“And you don’t think that he’s going to catch on? What the hell, Claude?” I stepped down from the barstool, half wishing I could walk out the door. But I couldn’t. Not with the man connected to my brother’s disappearance involved.
My prospects weren’t good, however. Claude might be able to defend himself from a vampire like Nicolas Chevalier, but I wasn’t ignorant enough to think I could. I still wasn’t sure that digging into anything related to my brother’s disappearance was a good idea. I’d avoided it for years, with good reason.
But some obsessions were harder to shut down than others, and it wasn’t a wound I could poke at without consequences.
“Nic hasn’t returned to the cabin since we were there, and he’s not likely to anytime soon.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because he hadn’t been there in six months before I went there. Besides, I have a…friend keeping an eye out. If Nicolas sets foot near that cabin, I’ll know about it before he becomes a threat.”
Who did he have watching the cabin? And how? The questions were on the tip of my tongue, but I shook my head. No. I didn’t need to know any of that, and didn’t really want to know.
“I can’t imagine why you’d be willing to take a risk not only to your person, but to your career if anyone finds out—but not be willing to pull a damn file,” I grumbled.
He let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in the sound. “You really think I’m worried about my career?” He leaned forward, again catching my gaze with his, and my stomach clenched. “I have had many careers in my lifetime. I will continue to do what I do, bringing otherworlders and humans to justice for their crimes, whether or not the Chicago Police Department continues to pay me.”
“Well, not all of us have the benefit of multiple lifetimes, Claude. Astrid doesn’t. I certainly don’t.”
“I’ve got it under control. No one’s career is at stake, Beatrice.”
“From where I’m standing, you have nothing under control. You’re not even willing to investigate this the right way, yet you’re willing to steal a suspect’s property?”
“I suppose you could do better?”
“Damn right I could. I’d start by getting Natalie off that wild goose chase you’ve got her on, and use her skills on something important instead. Then I’d pull some damn files from the OWEA or the local police Paranormal Unit that are similar. Track down witnesses. Talk to some shamans. See what you can find using real police work.”
I got up close and personal, leaving only inches between us. “And I’d take a serious look at your supposed friend, Luc Chevalier. Because he isn’t clean in all this. I’d bet my life on it.”
“I’m telling you that Luc has nothing to do with this,” Claude said, his voice a low growl. He stood over me, as if his height would intimidate me. I’d finally rattled the unrattlable vampire. Go me.
“And I’m telling you that I don’t buy it.”
Claude slammed a hand down on his countertop, and the loud boom startled me. He was a better slammer than I was, I’d give him that.
“I need some air,” he muttered. Without another word, he turned and walked to the living room. The open floor plan made his destination obvious, and he walked out onto the balcony. Annoyingly, he moved calmly, as if he hadn’t just lost his temper.
I struggled with the urge to follow him and continue our argument. Claude might not be able to see it, but he was blinded by his feelings for his friend. And could I blame him?
Minutes turned into nearly an hour, and I finally couldn’t leave it alone anymore. I threw on my coat, cursing under my breath. Then I opened the door to the balcony, and stared out at the view. It was lovely. All that dark water—I wouldn’t have known it from the ocean. And I wouldn’t have even seen it if not for the moon blazing above us. Lights shone below us and to the sides, too, but all man-made. Brisk air filled my lungs, and I was thankful I’d remembered the jacket.
Movement caught my eye. I turned to face Claude. He sat in the corner, a bottle of whiskey on the small table at his side. I suppressed the urge to sigh, knowing my words would land on deaf ears even before I said them. “If it looks like a duck—”
“I get it.” Weariness coated his tone.
“I’ve seen him in another vision, Claude.”
“I figured as much, the way you look at the picture you drew. But you don’t trust me enough to give me any details about it.” It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway.
“It’s not about trust.”
“I’m sick to death of talking about this. Let’s speak of something more pleasant.”
I laughed. The situation was just too ridiculous. “You’re drunk.”
“Nonsense. Vampires don’t get drunk.”
“Bullshit.”
“Why didn’t you ever call me back?”
The change of topic spun me, and I couldn’t grasp my thoughts. “What?” I managed.
“We had amazing sex for several weeks. I know that I didn’t treat you well after, but I called you after the case ended. You never called me back.” He spoke slowly, as if talking too fast would be more than I could comprehend.
My mind warred. Half of me wanted to turn around and run into the condo as fast as I could. Avoid this conversation. Avoid this man who inevitably got under my skin.
But my other half was pissed.
“You called me months after the case ended, Claude. Three months. And after the way you talked to me, you expected me to be waiting for your call?” I shook my head. “You were right. It was an affair. Fun. But that’s all it was.”
His voice was low, but it carried to my ears. “It took me three months to realize I didn’t want just an affair with you.”
“Well, it took me less than three months to realize an affair was all I wanted.”
“I’m sorry for what I said—”
“What part?” I asked. He hesitated, and rage bubbled up inside of me. As did the all too clear memory of exactly what he’d said to me during our final hour together. “Maybe you regret telling me what we had was fun, but it didn’t mean anything. That we’d experienced an amusing dalliance you’d grown bored of.”
“Beatrice—”
“Your tone was the worst, you know.” I hated the catch in my throat, the too-high pitch in my quavering voice. “The disinterested, holier than thou tone that made me feel like a piece of trash. Like a silly little girl who you had to explain the ways of the world to.” I shook my head. “For a while I believed you. I thought I was the one in the wrong for telling you that I loved you. I put myself out there—confessed my feelings. That’s not something that comes easily for me. And you humiliated me.”