Perhaps Carolyn had just handed him the key to lock the door on his past. “You know about Deirdre,” he said, trying to sound guilty. It wasn’t hard.
“I’ve been following you,” Carolyn admitted. “I’ve seen her watching the house. And I also saw her that first night when I followed you home from the store. You kissed her.”
No, she kissed me, he thought, but of course he said no such thing. “Our relationship is a little complicated,” he said, improvising. He turned to face her, putting his hands on her shoulders and meeting her eyes boldly. “Carolyn, I can’t deny that I still have some … feeling for you. But I’ve moved on with my life, and I wish you would do the same. Deirdre would never forgive me for letting things get so out of hand if she knew. I’m a faithful man by nature, and this was just … an aberration.”
The flush in her cheeks was no doubt due to anger now, but her voice sounded more reproachful than anything. “If you’re so faithful, why is it you were last seen leaving your bachelor party with a stripper?”
Yes, that had been his fatal mistake. “It’s not what you think.” Boy, was that an understatement! “Her car wouldn’t start, so I offered to give her a ride home. There was nothing sexual about it.” That was true, as far as it went.
Carolyn pursed her lips. “Anything else you care to tell me?”
Figuring his best strategy was to keep his mouth firmly shut and let her draw whatever conclusions she wanted, he said nothing. He thought he saw a hint of tears in her eyes as she nodded.
“All right, Gray. You’ve made your point I hope you and Deirdre have a lovely life together.” She stood, averting her gaze quickly. No doubt she was trying to hide the tears. “I’ll see myself out.”
Gray watched her stride for the door, wishing he could just sweep her into his arms and make everything right again.
“Carolyn!” he called, rising to his feet when she put her hand on the doorknob. She paused, not turning to look at him. “I’m sorry,” he said, although the words were useless. “For everything.”
She nodded briefly before she slipped out the door and out of his life.
6
DRAKE STOOD OVER THE body of the murdered woman and shook his head. The killer had left her splayed on the floor near the North Broad Street entrance to City Hall.
City Hall took up the entire block, a hollow rectangle of ornate architecture surrounding a central courtyard. Both Broad and Market Streets led right through the building in cavernous walkways for pedestrian traffic only. Even during the daytime, which Drake remembered from his mortal days long ago, the walkways under City Hall were dark and spooky, broken into distinct rooms, each with its own brooding personality. Whoever had designed the place was very fond of columns, which formed pools of shadow within the already dimly lit rooms. Pedestrian traffic was light, especially at this time of night, and the columns and arches and darkened stairways provided ample cover for a lurking hunter of the night.
Drake squatted beside the girl, wondering if the killer meant to leave a message by leaving her here, under the inscription bearing William Penn’s prayer for his city: O that thou mayest be kept from the evil that would overwhelm thee! Her clothes were torn, and a garish red line slashed across her fragile throat. Her mouth and eyes were open, and she smelled of fear and of cum.
“Damn,” he muttered softly as he reached out to close her eyes.
How was the killer eluding him? Drake had spent the whole night within a six-block radius of City Hall. If the killer were nearby, Drake should have felt his psychic footprint. He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, and immediately he sensed the presence of Deirdre and Fletcher. Deirdre’s route took her up and down North Broad, and Fletcher patrolled South Broad. Drake’s psychic radar was strong enough to sense them when they were three to four blocks away, but both of them were actually quite close right now. Not the most efficient use of manpower, to have all three of them clustered together like this.
At first, Drake had managed to convince Eli to let him work alone. Then, after the last meeting when he’d owned up to his kill, Eli had changed his mind. Drake was pretty sure Eli still trusted him. However, the Founder needed to appease his restless Guardians, who were uncomfortable about their alliance with a Killer.
Footsteps echoed from the next room over, someone coming through the courtyard toward Broad Street. Drake looked up to see a policeman passing through. A faint touch of glamour made the cop overlook the grim scene against the wall, although in the shadows of the columns he might have missed it anyway.
When the footsteps had faded, Drake reached out and swept a lock of hair out of the poor girl’s face. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered into the night.
He reached out with his mind yet again and realized Deirdre was drawing closer, even though he’d sensed her moving away before. She must have been close enough to sense him, and was now approaching to see why he was holding still for so long. Drake scowled when he felt Fletcher approaching as well. Already, he heard the tap of Deirdre’s high heels.
Drake straightened and waited for the Guardians to converge on him. He didn’t relish the confrontation, but he supposed there was no avoiding it. If he left the scene now, he would only postpone it.
Deirdre caught sight of him and hurried to his side, looking at the murdered girl with wide eyes. “Oh no!” she cried. “Not again.”
Drake clamped his jaw shut, hating that he’d failed. No doubt this was his reward for his arrogant assumption that he’d take the killer down the moment he was on the case.
“What happened?” Deirdre asked.
He sighed. “I don’t know. I’ve been in the area all night and sensed nothing. Then on one of my circuits I decided to cut through City Hall, and I found her. I don’t know how long she’s been dead.”
Deirdre shivered, crossing her arms over her chest. “Eli’s going to give us hell for this.”
That was the least of Drake’s concerns at the moment. “Fletcher’s coming.”
“I know.”
Moments later, a lone figure appeared in the archway leading from the courtyard. Drake braced himself for an unpleasant scene. He’d avoided Fletcher to the best of his ability since the near-fight at Eli’s, but there would be no avoiding him this time.
Fletcher joined them and stared at the body without comment for a long time. Drake wondered what the puppy was thinking. Usually he could read Fletcher’s face easily—that Irish temper of his was always close to the surface. At this moment, though, that boy-next-door face was closed and shuttered.
“When did you last feed?” Fletcher asked in a low voice without turning his gaze from the body.
Drake suppressed an urge to wrap his hands around the bastard’s neck and give a long, hard squeeze. “Eli’s not here to protect you this time, puppy, so I suggest you tread cautiously.”
Fletcher’s lips pulled away from his teeth and he shot Drake a murderous glance. Drake guessed he was suppressing his own urge to say something stupid about how he didn’t need Eli’s protection. The man might be a high-strung, irritating son of a bitch, but he wasn’t stupid and he knew when he was outmatched.
“Do you suppose the two of you could make nice just once?” Deirdre asked. “This constant squabbling isn’t helping our cause any.”
Drake had to admit she had a point, but as far as he was concerned, it was Fletcher who instigated all the “squabbling.”
Fletcher took a deep breath and some of the aggression eased out of his stance. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
Drake blinked. He couldn’t remember ever hearing that word from Fletcher’s lips before. Perhaps the young Guardian was maturing.
“So,” Deirdre continued, “Drake didn’t sense anything, I didn’t sense anything. What about you, Fletch?”
Fletcher shook his head. “Nothing. Except …”
“What is it?” Drake asked.
Fletcher gave him a penetrating look. “Well, I’ve sensed you off and on when I’ve gotten close
enough.”
Drake shrugged. “And I’ve sensed both you and Deirdre, except when you’ve been at the apex of your patrols. What of it?”
“Well, what if he knows that and uses it against us? What if sometime tonight, one of us thought he was sensing a Guardian but was really sensing the Killer?”
Drake thought about it a moment. “I don’t see how he could manage it. He’d have to know our patrol routes, wait for one of us to deviate, then take that one’s place and get out before being caught. It’s a tall order.”
Deirdre chewed her lip. “But what if it were an inside job?”
“Oh for God’s sake!” Drake growled, but she hurried on.
“I don’t mean you,” she assured him.
“Excuse me?” Fletcher asked, sounding as indignant as Drake had.
“Or you either. I just mean a Guardian. After all, being a Guardian does not make one a candidate for sainthood. A Guardian would know our patrol routes. And if he’s a Killer, his psychic senses would be stronger, allowing him to track us over greater distances. It might not be as hard as we think.”
“It’s not impossible,” Drake admitted reluctantly. While the Guardians shunned him whenever possible, and while he disliked most if not all of them, he had the utmost respect for their mission and would hate to see their society compromised.
“It’s not a Guardian,” Fletcher declared, but he sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
“We should mention the possibility to Eli,” Drake said.
A long, tense silence followed. Deirdre and Fletcher made eye contact and seemed to share a silent communication. Then, Fletcher nodded.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s report back.” His boyish features were uncommonly grim. “But I’m not going to be the one to suggest to Eli that one of his Guardians might have gone bad.”
Deirdre raised her hands in a defensive gesture. “Hey, don’t look at me. I’m not telling him.”
Drake wished they’d both grow up. “Fine! I’ll tell him. Now let’s get out of here.” He took one last pitying look at the dead girl. “Let the police find her so she can be returned to her family.”
Without another word, they turned their backs on the murder scene and started the long, cold walk to Eli’s.
GRAY FELT UNCOMMONLY RESTLESS. It seemed he couldn’t hold still these days.
Nerves jangling, he stepped to the front window and nudged the curtains aside. Across the street, Jules lounged in a window booth at the coffee shop. The pose looked casual, but the irritating bastard must have seen the subtle shifting of the drapes, for he grinned and raised his coffee cup in mocking salute.
Gray turned his eyes away from the coffee shop, glancing up and down the street. Looking for Carolyn.
He shook his head at himself. He’d wanted to chase her away, and he had. The aching emptiness he felt at the evidence of his success was just pathetic.
Three nights now, his only company had been the trio of Guardians charged with baby-sitting him. But at least Carolyn was safe.
Gray pushed the curtains open a little wider and gave Jules the finger. Jules returned the gesture. Gray was contemplating heading across the street and having another pointless fight with his highly unwelcome shadow when he heard a metallic clank. Frowning, he leaned forward a little, just in time to see a boy, maybe eight or ten years old, scampering down his front steps and running down the street.
Nothing but a neighborhood kid pulling some kind of prank, he told himself. And yet, he couldn’t ignore the unease that suddenly seized him. Letting the curtain slide shut, he cautiously walked to the entry hall.
On the floor beneath the mail slot sat a plain white envelope. There was absolutely no reason for Gray to feel such dread at the sight of it. But sometimes he thought his vampire state brought with it just a touch of prescience, and he knew even as he bent to pick it up that it was something bad.
The envelope was unmarked and unsealed. He cautiously opened the flap and pulled out the single piece of paper within. His heart seized when he read the brief note.
DEAR GRAY,
CAROLYN IS A LOVELY, LOVELY
WOMAN. JUST MY TYPE. NOW THAT
YOU’VE TOSSED HER OUT, YOU
WON’T MIND IF I SAMPLE HER, WILL
YOU?
YOURS,
THE BROAD STREET BANGER
Gray crumpled the paper and squeezed it with all his strength. Don’t panic, he told himself, but it had little effect.
Clearly this was not the childish prank he’d imagined, but it just couldn’t be serious. He’d read about this so-called Broad Street Banger in the papers. An anonymous serial killer who raped and murdered pretty women. But his pattern was clear, and the police were sure it was only strangers he killed; there was no connection between his victims, and all the crimes seemed based on opportunity rather than planning. And how the hell would he know anything about Gray or Carolyn?
Chest heaving, Gray stalked to the window again and stared out at Jules. Was this Jules’s way of torturing him? As far as Gray knew, the three Guardians who’d kept watch on him were the only ones who would know anything about Carolyn. And only Jules hated him enough to torment him like this.
For a long moment, Gray debated once more the option of crossing the street and confronting Jules. He stared at the wadded paper in his hand. If Jules had written this, he would see the prick dead!
But what if he hadn’t? A thin sheen of sweat broke out on his face. If Jules had written it, Gray would know its venom was directed solely at him. What if the culprit was actually after Carolyn? Maybe Gray wasn’t the only one being followed. After all, in her profession Carolyn had made many an enemy.
Cursing, Gray stuffed the paper into his jeans pocket and snatched his jacket out of the hall closet. He had to warn Carolyn about the danger, whether it was real or not. A phone call wouldn’t do it, either. She had to see this note.
Gray let out a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. Surely Carolyn was just fine—whoever had sent this note would get little satisfaction out of it if she were already dead. Still, his throat cramped tight with worry, and he almost charged out the front door.
He came to an abrupt halt with his hand on the knob.
If he went out the front door, then he would be going to see Carolyn with Jules on his heels. The last thing he wanted was for Jules to see him with Carolyn again. It would just strengthen the prick’s conviction that Gray was some kind of dangerous predator. Not to mention that Jules might make a play for her in the ultimate attempt to do him harm.
The damned Guardians thought they were so clever, standing watch outside his house all through the night. But he knew something they didn’t.
Giving Jules the finger again—though this time through the closed door, so the other vampire couldn’t see it—Gray headed down the steep set of stairs leading to the basement,
The basement was little more than a storage area, filled with discarded furniture and broken household appliances. Kate never had been able to throw anything away, choosing instead to bury her unwanted possessions in the basement. But the basement held a secret.
Moving aside a desk with a broken leg—an “escritoire,” Kate had called it when she had him drag it down to the basement for her—he uncovered a faded, moth-eaten rug. When he pulled back the corner of that rug, he unearthed a trap door. He stared at the faint outlines of that door and shuddered.
When Kate had first transformed him, she’d kept him locked in this cursed basement for days on end as the hunger built within him. He’d been too sunk in his misery to search for an escape. He still remembered the cruel light in her eyes when she had showed him the bolt hole he could have escaped through if he’d had the wherewithal to find it. She had, in fact, revealed the hidden trap door right after—
Gray dragged his mind forcefully away from the precipice. He didn’t dare let himself sink into despair when Carolyn might be in danger. He yanked open the trap door, sneezing when the sudden
motion sent up a cloud of dust. Then, he dropped into the darkness of the tunnel below.
CAROLYN WRINKLED HER NOSE at the lone slice of cold pizza remaining amidst the crumbs at the bottom of the box.
“You sure you don’t want it?” Hannah asked.
Carolyn shook her head, and Hannah snagged the slice. At least it kept her mouth occupied so she couldn’t ask any more probing questions during the commercial break. Carolyn stared hard at the TV, willing the commercial to end before Hannah finished wolfing down the pizza.
She got her wish, and she clicked off the Mute button. Jack Nicholson was just waking up after having spent the night as a werewolf, chasing down a deer and killing it. It was her first “Movie Night” with Hannah since she’d given up on Gray, and she should have known the companionable get-together would turn into the interrogation from hell. Hannah had an amazing ability to camouflage her most probing questions so that Carolyn blurted out more than she meant to tell. She had to be constantly on her guard, examining every question tossed her way and measuring her answers carefully.
It was not exactly what Movie Night was supposed to be about. Of course, if their roles had been reversed, Carolyn supposed she might have been just as nosy and persistent.
When the next commercial break hit, Carolyn picked up the empty pizza box, meaning to toss it in the trash. If she could dawdle in the kitchen long enough …
“Leave the box, Carolyn,” Hannah said, curling her feet under herself on the couch. “I’ll stop trying to pry your secrets out of you, okay?”
Carolyn laughed, but sat down anyway. “I’m not stupid enough to fall for that line. You’re just trying to put me at ease in hopes that I’ll let something slip without noticing.”
Hannah tried to look innocent. “Would I do something like that?”
“In a heartbeat.”
Hannah shrugged. “Okay, maybe. But I just don’t get why you won’t tell me what happened. I mean geez, Carolyn, we tell each other everything!”