Bitter Black Kiss (4 page)

She produced a folder from the bag, but held it with tight fingers even as his closed around it. “And make damn sure you cover mine too.” Finally, she let go.

The other shoe had dropped. Sometimes, it proved impossible to follow the straight and narrow as described in the giant book of rules. He hadn’t been a dirty cop, not by any means. But he had methods of getting suspects to talk. He could chase down criminals and make deals with them better than any other cop on the force. The people he worked with envied his ability to close cases and began to formulate some outlandish ideas. The jealousy and rumors had hurt his reputation. Vasquez had been the only one at the precinct that would ride with him. He at least owed her for that.

Her face clouded. Somehow she managed to pull a smile. “I wasn’t going to tell you until I had something definite, but I’ve been bending a few ears.”

“Oh?”

“I’m trying to get the department to at least pay you for all the help you’ve given us.”

He laughed, but it carried no optimism.

She regarded the baggy jeans and Depeche Mode t-shirt. “I think I prefer you in dress clothes, Brody. You look like half the people we haul in.”

Shrugging, he brushed a hand down the front of his shirt and grinned. “Still the same loveable me in these rags.”

That got a laugh out of her. Vasquez opened the car door, pitched the purse into the back seat. “I’m curious. Why can’t you just let this thing with Stone die? You’re aware there are other people who bring drugs into the city, right?”

“You figure it out.”

“I’m trying.” She dropped into the sedan. “Are you sure this isn’t personal? You got shamed while he was welcomed.”

He shook his head. “This isn’t a pissing contest. I’m happy to keep my other nature hidden. I don’t crave the public attention like he does.”

“You’ve let it become personal, Brody. Sometimes you’ve got to step back and view the big picture. For every bad guy we take out, there are more just like him waiting in the wings.”

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I see the picture, Eva. Every time someone takes BST it affects me and my kind.”

“But not everyone who takes it is Lycan.”

“People aren’t too hot on the idea of it allowing us free access to our other form. The fact that it fucks up regular people isn’t so great either.”

“Your kind?” Confusion showed on her face. Her eyes scrunched, and the fine lines around them stood out in sharper detail. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with your 
kind
. You’re still a loner, aren’t you?”

“I choose not to be in a pack, so yeah, I’m an independent. It doesn’t change what I am.”

“You keep out of trouble, understand?” Vasquez allowed him to shut the door. She rolled the window down. “Listen, we’ll keep an eye on Stone. Despite what you think, we haven’t written him off completely. It’s just that nothing ever sticks.”

“It’s cool. I’ve got a new angle to work.”

She smiled. “Is that why you didn’t get to bed until four a.m.?”

Brody didn’t bother to correct her assumptions. Let her think what she wanted, it kept the department off his back. Besides, if they knew he was right under Stone’s nose, they would throw a fit. He strode over to his ’65 Mustang, angered that nothing concrete ever stuck to the magnate.

Vasquez rolled away in her nondescript sedan. Brody knew there was a limit to what she could tell him. If the word got back to the department that she asked for his help or had given him information, it would be bad for her. His career was ruined. There was no reason to do the same to hers.

Sure, he’d lost his job at the department, but he still had a few friends in uniform. Some of the old school cops who had opposed him and his kind had retired or been shoved out of the system. A few of the younger cops, those who were rookies when he was around, were still there. Now that the outbreak had taken hold, most were willing to listen and learn.

Things used to be easy. That was before everyone got the idea to test for the virus. Brody had been one of the fastest rising stars on the force. He’d moved from uniform to detective in only a year. He solved the crimes they were unable to wrap their heads around, the ones that had no answers. Once upon a time, he was their golden boy.

None of that mattered.

Once they’d gotten wind of what he was — what he’d been and would be — they’d done all they could to make him look bad. They made the workplace intolerable in hopes of forcing him out.

An L-virus outbreak took place three months after he made detective. There were public outcries and the government implemented mandatory blood tests. Not just for the military or law enforcement, but hospitals and all public service entities were required to perform the analysis. They couldn’t ignore rumors that there might be werewolves amongst them, or worse, that they might need to call upon them for aid.

The San Diego police department performed their assessments and found out he carried the Lycan virus. He went up before the review board and admitted to having the virus for over fifteen years. They were shocked, even amazed that he kept it under control. Still, the department had demanded he take a drug test every month in hopes of catching BST in his system. They hadn’t.

They played it cool and didn’t fire him right away though. He suspected they feared a discrimination lawsuit. He stayed on for over a year and solved the difficult cases. He was shoved out three years ago. Someone had put the idea that he was a dirty cop into Internal Affairs head, and they performed an extensive investigation. That hadn’t worked, so the higher-ups blamed office politics, layoffs and the like, but everyone knew the truth. He was a Lycanthrope and no one but Vasquez would work with him for fear of getting hurt or worse. It translated into the same old ridiculous bigotry, and everyone was eager to turn a blind eye.

A year after they gave him the boot, the department discovered they needed help controlling the influx of people affected by BST and Lycanthropy. They even had the gall to ask him to come back, to be part of the special crimes unit. He’d be the most logical choice, they’d said. He could be trusted. Who better to help control the freaks than one of their own? He’d refused the bittersweet offer.

His watch said he had ten minutes to get to Bitter Black. A quick glance through the folder was all he could afford.

Pausing at the red light, he studied a photocopy of Hank’s faceless body. On the next page, he found an inventory of numbers Vasquez had found on the dead man’s phone. One in particular looked familiar.

Cursing, he snatched his cell phone and dialed the number listed. A female voice instructed him to leave a message after the beep.

Chapter Four

The show at The Wolf’s Den was going full swing. Nicole ignored the audience of men who howled at the gyrating women on stage. A thick cloud of cigarette smoke hung in the air, and the aroma of stale beer and lust sickened her.

Nicole entered the dressing area, and a few girls looked up. The odor in here wasn’t much better. Fruity lotions, stinky shoes, and glitter dust made her nose tingle. The noise level wasn’t much better either. The girls had to yell to hear each other over the sound system.

An open bottle of Boone’s Fuzzy Navel sat on one of the tables next to a red boa and a matching pair of plush handcuffs. Nicole supposed there was nothing like a shot of liquid courage to enable you to dance in front of a room full of drunken, paunchy men.

Still she gave the girl closest to it a pointed look. The newest dancer offered a weak smile and tucked the bottle out of sight.

“That’s the only warning you’ll receive. Next time, you’re out the door.” Nicole’s usual vehemence didn’t make it into her voice.

A girl in a thong and pasties laid aside a tube of mascara. Her eyes looked like tarantulas had attacked. “Have you heard from Amy?”

Nicole shook her head. “Do any of you know if she had a roommate or boyfriend?”

A couple girls rolled their eyes. Another shrugged. A perky brunette said, “The cops already asked us that.”

Another asked, “Are you going to hire a replacement?”

Nicole leaned against the closest vanity. “Does anyone want to split her shift until I find someone else?”

The girl in the thong and a redhead in latex hot pants nodded acceptance. The redhead added, “I’m glad she’s gone. She was weird.”

The thong agreed, “Yeah, especially a few nights ago.”

Nicole pulled her purse around to the front of her body and rummaged through it. “What happened?”

The redhead continued, “She was crazy, that’s what. I think she might’ve been high or something.”

“Yeah, and her legs were hairy,” the thong wearer added.

Nicole raised an eyebrow. “Explain.”

Thong woman shrugged. “Really, really hairy. I think she’s one of those wolf people.”

The memory of Amy’s body twisted and sprouting gave her a case of the jitters. “Give me a call if any of you hear from her.”

“Will do,” the new girl nodded.

She didn’t want to deal with the loud music or the overwhelming amount of testosterone on the main floor, so she headed for the back door. It swung shut behind her, and one of the girls called, “Careful, there’s a stray dog or something out there.”

Nicole rested against the brick wall for a moment and gathered her wits. Two nights had passed, and Amy hadn’t shown up. She watched the news for any sign that the dancer had met an unfortunate end, but thus far there was no mention of her or the attacker. Where the hell was she?

She told herself that Amy Dahl wasn’t her responsibility. She’d hired the girl to dance at the club. She was only obligated to make sure that Amy did the work she was hired to do. No, she didn’t know her on a personal level, but she just couldn’t turn her back on her either.

A breeze swept past. The reek of something stronger and fouler than garbage stung her nostrils. At first she didn’t think much of it. She was next to the dumpster, after all. Perhaps it was a curious cat who had given its ninth life. She gathered her suit jacket around her throat then pushed away from the wall.

From inside the metal bin, Nicole heard a faint moan. “What the hell?”

“Help.” The word was faint. The crackle of garbage bags and trash drowned out the wretched voice.

Nicole’s step faltered. Could someone really be in there? “Hello?”

“Help me.” That voice again. It sounded oddly familiar.

“I’m calling the police.”

“Please…”

“Damn it.” She pushed the lid open then stood on her tiptoes to peer inside. A mountain of black garbage bags, cardboard, and discarded paper was piled high. A half-eaten plate of chicken wings and loose peanuts lay on top of the closest bag. She wished the security lamp was just a bit brighter.

Another low moan came from inside the dumpster. There were words involved, but Nicole could not understand. She allowed her purse to fall from her shoulder then edged around the side of the disgusting dumpster.

Flipping the latch on the side of the bin, an avalanche of waste tumbled out onto the pavement. The mound of trash rustled and crinkled. Something or someone moved beneath it.

A hand pushed out from the heap of bags. Fingers coated in muck and blood latched onto her wrist. Nicole’s scream echoed through the alley. She twisted away, stumbled then fell on her rump. Deep scratches stung her arm and crimson welled in the gashes.

Movement at the dark end of the alley snapped Nicole’s head up, and she scanned the darkness. Her heart thundered in her chest and forced the breath from her lungs in shallow gasps.

The woman in the dumpster continued to cry and plead for help.

“Shh.” Nicole scrambled to her feet and pressed herself against the bin and wall. A tremor shuddered up her spine, and she reached for the door.

The knob twisted, but wouldn’t open.
Shit!

She cursed her stupidity. Unless you had a key, the door could only be opened from the inside, a safety precaution for the girls. Even if she beat on it hard as she could, they wouldn’t hear her over the sound system. She stood frozen, listening to the silence.

Perhaps she had allowed her imagination to get away with her.

She returned her attention to the girl in the dumpster. The smell of rot and soured whiskey was thick at this level. She was glad the light was dim in the alley because she didn’t want to know what had just squished between her fingers. Throwing bags aside, she uncovered an arm. Two more revealed Amy Dahl was lying naked at the bottom of the dumpster, covered in blood and rubbish.

“Amy!” Nicole crashed to her knees and tossed bags aside. “Give me your hand, I’ll pull you out.”

Amy’s grip was weak. Her fingers curled around Nicole’s scraped wrist. The girl’s upper body landed in Nicole’s lap, the lower half on the cool concrete.

“Oh Christ, what happened to you?” Cuts and bite marks were littered all over Amy’s skin. An injured area on her inner thigh looked infected and full of puss. Her nose and chin were lengthened. Her left ear was extended and narrow. The tip formed a point instead of a gentle curve and a delicate fringe of hair lined it. Her chest and shoulders were covered in wiry, dark hair. The right side of her face was an open wound.

The fence at the other end of the alley rattled. A shadowy figure emerged out of the darkness. Brody Dunn’s hair was a mess, and he looked like he’d dressed in a hurry. To her, he appeared like a welcome beacon in a dark, stormy night.

Brody knelt on the grimy pavement next to her and spoke into his cell phone. He informed the dispatcher where they could be found and even had the forethought to tell them there was a Lycan involved.

“Had to hide.” Amy’s eyes fluttered shut. “He was gonna kill me.”

She could see the flash of teeth and gums through Amy’s cleaved face. A ribbon of flesh hung from the side of her face and rested on Nicole’s forearm. She stared at the dumpster instead of the girl.

Amy shuddered. “So cold.”

Amy’s eyes snapped open, but didn’t focus on anything. Her voice was a mere whisper. “Don’t let him get me.”

“I’m here. I’m with you.” Nicole laid her jacket across the girl’s damaged body. She deserved some humility in her time of need.

Brody got to his feet and surveyed the alley. “Who did this to you, Amy?”

“Don’t let him fool you.” Amy’s eyes turned toward Nicole. Her body curled in upon itself. A few labored breaths later, she was gone.

Brody extracted Nicole from Amy’s body and pulled her up and against him. She turned to bury her face in his shoulder and clung to him. Her eyes shut and just for a heartbeat, she believed nothing could harm her in his embrace.

His hand cupped the back of her head and held her against his chest. His heart drummed a steady, calm rhythm that soothed her frayed nerves.

Hard soled shoes tapped to a stop at the open end of the alley. A figure stood beneath the light.

Recognition flickered across Brody’s face. He almost looked annoyed by the intrusion.

The newcomer moved with natural grace. Her dark hair was pinned back, and she wore no makeup. Her eyes carried a hard, wary expression. “I need both of you to step away from the body.”

Nicole eased out of Brody’s arms and an immediate sense of vulnerability and remorse overwhelmed her. Brody didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy scowling at the woman walking toward them.

“Keep your hands where I can see them.” It would be hard to mistake the contempt in her voice. She swept the burgundy jacket away to rest her hand on the butt of a service revolver.

She must be a detective. To make things clear, Nicole thought she should explain. “I found her in the dumpster.”

Two uniformed policemen entered the alley behind the detective. Together, they blocked off the entrance with yellow tape then joined the woman. Their patrol cars sat on the street, lights flashing.

Turning to the uniforms, she instructed them to make sure Brody made it downtown. “I’ll need to get his take on things.”

Brody pulled keys out of his jeans pocket. “I’ll meet you there, Eva. Want me to bring Ms. Riley?”

“No. She’ll ride with me.” The detective dropped to one knee and checked for Amy’s pulse.

Nicole watched Brody lope away and wished she could go with him. One of the cops followed. She turned her attention back to the woman. “Who are you?”

“I’m Detective Vasquez with the Special Crimes Unit.”

“Special crimes?”

Irritation oozed from the woman’s voice. “We deal with Lycan affairs.”

Vasquez rocked back on her heels then pulled a cell phone from her pocket. Her blunt tipped finger jabbed at the buttons. “We’ve got a body at The Wolf’s Den. Pull around back, no sirens.”

The detective maneuvered Nicole away from the dumpster. Her nails pinched her arm. “Why are you back here?”

Nicole squeezed her eyes shut and struggled to control her breathing. The last thing she needed was another lungful of putrid air. Amy had been a living, breathing being up until a few moments ago. Now she was downgraded to evidence.

“Who is she?” Vasquez’s sharp voice demanded. “Can you identify her?”

Nicole stared at the detective’s sensible brown pumps instead of the dead girl. “Amy Dahl.”

Vasquez’s fingers relaxed their grip, and her voice took on a more considerate tone. She withdrew a penlight from her jacket pocket and aimed it at what remained of the girl’s face.

Nicole glanced at the body, but wished she hadn’t. The entire right side of Amy’s head was a nightmare. The flesh had been torn away to reveal all the muscles and inner workings.

The detective pulled on a latex glove and squatted beside the body. She used her thumb and forefinger to move the dead girl’s lips. This action revealed sharp upper and lower canines.

“Did you know she was Lycan?” Though the detective didn’t look directly at her, Nicole had the distinct feeling that she was gauging her reaction.

“I just found out.”

A strange expression twisted Vasquez’s face. “You never said what you were doing out here.”

“I work here.” That didn’t quite come out right. “I mean, I work for Sean Stone. Not as a dancer, but as a promoter for both his clubs.”

Vasquez regarded her with an unimpressed stare. “Why did you put your jacket over her?”

“She was naked. She deserved some humility.”

“You fucked up the evidence.”

Before Nicole could answer, Vasquez stalked toward the remaining officer. “Take her downtown.”

“Wait! Am I being arrested?”
Holy shit, could tonight get any worse?

“Not yet.” Vasquez waved to the CSI guys as they pushed past the lookie-loos who had gathered on the other side of the tape. “We just want to ask a few questions.”

****