4 Blood Pact (21 page)

Swinging up onto the Johnson Street bus, he glanced back at the seat just in front of the rear door, hoping for a young, Oriental male, eating candy. The seat was empty.

“Of course it is,” he muttered, sitting in it himself. “Or it would be too easy.”

 

“Violent Crimes. Detective-Sergeant Graham.”

“Why the hell aren’t you out working? Jesus, I can’t take my eyes off you for a second.”

“Hello, Mike. I miss you, too.”

Celluci grinned and braced the phone against his shoulder. “Listen, Dave, I need you to do me a favor.”

On the other end of the line, his partner sighed with enough force to rattle the wires between Toronto and Kingston. “Of course you do. Whey else would you call?”

“I want you to call Humber College and talk to someone in Health Sciences about a Tom Chen who applied recently to their funeral director’s program.”

“Humber . . . Health Sciences . . . Tom Chen . . . Okay. What do you want to know?”

“Everything they know.”

“About this Chen?”

“No, about life in general.” Celluci rolled his eyes at his reflection in the etched mirror over the couch. “The name’s an alias, but that shouldn’t make any difference to your inquiries. And I need the info ASAP.”

The wires rattled again. “Of course you do. How’s she holding up?”

“Vicki?”

“No, her mother, asshole.”

“About as well as can be expected, all things considered.”

“Yeah. Well . . .” There was a pause while things were considered. “So, you going to be at Vicki’s mother’s place for the next couple of days?”

Celluci looked around the apartment. “Far as I know. You got the number?”

“Yeah. I’ll call collect.”

“Cheap Scots bastard,” Celluci muttered and hung up, smiling. Dave Graham was a good cop and a loyal friend. Except in their dedication to their work, they were nothing alike, and their partnership was both successful and uncomplicated.

“Uncomplicated; I could use a little of that right now.” Celluci headed for the kitchen and the coffee maker. “Vicki’s dead mother is paying house calls. Some joker who’s equally dead is murdering teenagers. And there’s a vampire in the closet.”

He froze, a step half taken.

“A completely helpless vampire in the closet.”

Even with the door braced from the inside, it would still be so easy to remove his rival. To have Vicki to himself. To let in just enough sunlight . . .

He finished the step and picked up the coffeepot. Fitzroy was too smart, had lived too long, to be in that closet if he thought he was in any danger. Celluci shook his head at the subtlety of trust and lifted a mug of coffee in salute.

“Sleep well, you son of a bitch.”

Rubbing at her temples with both hands, Vicki exhaled noisily. Adrenaline had run out some time before and she was mind-numbingly tired. The physical exhaustion she could cope with—had coped with many times in the past—but emotionally she felt as though she’d spent the day being flayed and then salted.

Dr. Burke had begun it, with her sudden sympathy, and then Dr. Devlin had finished the job. He had been more than fond of her mother and, still devastated by her death, had, in typical Irish fashion, poured out his grief. Vicki, unable to stop him, had sat dry-eyed while the middle-aged professor railed against the cruelties of fate, told of how universally Marjory Nelson had been liked and respected, and went on in detail about how proud Marjory Nelson had been of her daughter. Vicki knew how to stop him—“
Sometimes,” the cadet instructor had told them, “you want to give the person you’re questioning their head. Let them talk about whatever they want, we’ll teach you how to separate the gold from the dross. But sometimes, you have to cut it short and take control—”
she just couldn’t do it.

She didn’t want to hear what a wonderful person her mother had been, how much they’d all depended on her, how much they missed her, but not listening felt like a betrayal. And she’d done enough of that already.

The box of personal effects she’d taken from the office sat accusingly at the end of the coffee table. She hadn’t been able to do more with it than get it back to the apartment and even that hadn’t been easy. It had weighed a lot more than it looked like it should.

All at once, she became aware that Celluci had just asked her a question and she had no idea what it had been. “Sorry,” she said, shoving her glasses back into place with enough force to drive the plastic bridge into her forehead.

He exchanged a look with Henry and although she didn’t catch the content, she didn’t like the possibilities. Separately, she could barely handle them. At this point a united front, on any issue, would be beyond her.

“I asked,” he repeated levelly, “about Dr. Burke’s grad students. You told us she had some. Any chance they could be doing the work under her supervision?”

“I doubt it. According to Mrs. Shaw, when I went back for that appointment list, one’s into bacteria, a couple have something to do with computers, and one—and I’m paraphrasing here—is a fuck-up who can’t make up his mind. I’ll . . .” Celluci opened his mouth but she corrected herself before he could speak, “we’ll check them out further tomorrow.”

Henry sat forward in his chair, his expression one she’d begun to recognize as his hunting face. “So you do suspect Dr. Burke?”

“I don’t know what I think about Dr. Burke.” Looking back on the interview, all Vicki could hear was the doctor’s voice saying quietly,
“It’s amazing how much you resemble your mother.”
Which was an irrelevant observation at the best of times and doubly so now; her mother was dead. “She’s got the necessary arrogance, that’s for damned sure, and the intelligence and the background, but all anyone can talk about is what a brilliant administrator she is.” She shrugged and wished she hadn’t; her shoulders felt as though they were balancing lead weights. “Still, until we know she
didn’t
do it, she stays on the list. I think, though, we can safely ignore Dr. Devlin.”

“Why?”

“Because he could never have kept the research secret. If he were doing
this,”
she made the innocuous pronoun sound like a curse, “he wouldn’t be able to keep from telling the world. Besides, I gather he’s a devout Irish Catholic and until recently, they weren’t even keen on autopsies.”

“He’s also a scientist,” Celluci pointed out. “And he could be acting.”

“All the world’s a stage,” Henry added quietly, “and we but players on it.”

Celluci rolled his eyes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean.”

“That if you do talk to the person responsible, they’re going to lie.”

“That’s why you build a body of evidence, Fitzroy. To catch the liars. We know more tonight than we did last night and we’ll know more tomorrow than we do now. Eventually the truth will out. Nothing stays hidden forever.”

We haven’t got forever
. Henry wanted to say. Every
moment that passes eats into her. How long before there’s nothing left but a cause?
“We need a smoking gun,” he said instead.

Celluci snorted in disbelief. The phrase sounded ridiculous coming from Henry’s mouth. “You have been reading the literature.”

Henry ignored him. “I’m going to track the other one; the male who killed the teenager. There were too many police around to do it last night. If I find him, I’ll find your mother’s body as well.”

“And then?” Vicki demanded. “What do we do then?”

“We give them to Detective Fergusson. Lead him to the laboratory. Let him deal with the . . .”

“Wait a minute,” Celluci interrupted. “You’re actually suggesting we let the police handle this?”

“Why not? We have no one to protect this time, except me, and unlike ancient Egyptian gods of darkness or demons summoned up out of hell, mad scientists should fall within the capabilities of the law.”

Celluci closed his mouth. Wasn’t that his argument?

“Henry, you can’t go to the police,” Vicki began.

Henry smiled and cut her off. “I won’t. I’ll deliver the information to you. You’ll deliver it to the police. Detective Fergusson will be so happy to have his murderer, I think he’ll let you be a bit vague as to where and how you found it.”

Vicki’s lips almost curved. “You know, most guys just give a girl flowers or candy.”

“Most guys,” Henry agreed.

The air in the apartment seemed suddenly charged and Celluci felt the hair on his arms rise. Fitzroy’s eyes had darkened and even from across the room he thought he could see Vicki’s reflection gazing out of their depths. The sudden flash of understanding snapped the pencil he held. Neither of them noticed.

Vampire.

How often do vampires have to feed?

Had Fitzroy fed at all since they’d come to Kingston?

Another look at Henry’s face and he knew the offer wouldn’t be made at his expense. Somewhere, somewhen, they’d gone beyond that.

“I’ve got to get out of here.” His voice brusk but determined, Celluci stood.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
“I need a nice long walk to clear my head. Help me think.” Half a dozen long-legged strides took him to the door. He yanked his jacket off the coat stand and charged out into the hall before they had a chance to try and stop him.
’Cause I sure as shit can’t offer this more than once.

Safely outside, door closed behind him, he sagged against the wall and closed his eyes for a second, amazed at what he’d just done.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, see a man act like a fool completely of his own free will
.

But he had the day.

Was it fair to deny Fitzroy the night?

And anyway,
he shoved both hands up through his hair.
It should be Vicki’s choice. Not a choice forced on her by my presence.

“Jesus H. Christ. What kind of idiot takes advice from a fucking T-shirt?”

 

Vicki stared across the room at the apartment door and then turned to stare at Henry. “Did he just? . . .”

“Leave?” Henry nodded, more than a little amazed himself. “Yes.”

She couldn’t get her brain around it. “Why?”

“I believe he is removing himself as an obstacle between us.”

“Between us? You mean so we can? . . .”

“Yes.”

“Why that arrogant shit!” Her brows snapped down, but she was so tired the exclamation had little force. “Didn’t he think I might have something to say about that?”

Henry spread his hands, the fine red-gold hairs glinting in the lamplight. “No one’s stopping you from saying it, Vicki.”

She glared at him for a moment longer, then sighed. “All right. Valid point. But I think you two are getting along too god-damned well.”

“Wouldn’t it make things easier for you if Detective-Sergeant Celluci and I got along?”

“That depends.” She sank back against the sofa cushions and added dryly, “On how
well
you get along.”

“Vicki!” Her name dripped with exaggerated shock. “Surely you don’t think . . .”

It took her a moment to catch the implication and when she did, she couldn’t stop herself from giggling. It had to be the exhaustion; she never giggled. “You wish. Michael Celluci is straight enough to draw lines with.”

Henry’s smile changed slightly and his eyes darkened, enough of the hunter showing to make his desire plain. “Then I shall have to find someone else.”

Vicki swallowed, if only to move her heart down out of her throat. He was making no attempt to catch her gaze, to draw her into his power. If she said no, and she could taste the word on her tongue, he would hunt elsewhere.
But he needs me.
Even from across the room, she could feel his Hunger. It wouldn’t be a betrayal. There was nothing more she could do for her mother tonight. More important, his needs covered hers and behind their camouflage, she could, if only for the duration, let go.

He needs me.
Repeated, it drew attention from the more dangerous,
I need him.

“Vicki?”

His voice stroked heat into her skin. “Yes.”

 

Celluci watched Henry cross the parking lot, and worked at unclenching his teeth. There was nothing in the way the other man—
vampire-slash-romance writer,
Celluci savagely corrected the thought—moved to give any indication of what had gone on in the apartment.
Well, he doesn’t brag. I’ll give the little fucker that.

“Detective.”

“Fitzroy.”

“Be quiet when you go into the apartment. She’s asleep.”

“How is she?”

“Some of the knots have loosened. I wish I could say they’ll still be that way in the morning.”