Blood Law (37 page)

Another scar marred the left side of her neck, a jagged slash starting behind her ear and extending to her collarbone. She fingered the scar, a permanent reminder of a chapter in her life she thought was behind her. Fate, however, had other plans for her.

“Snap out of it, Alex,” she told her reflection as she pulled loose the band securing her hair in a low ponytail. She gathered the shoulder-length-tangled auburn
mass at the nape of her neck and looped the band around it once more. “What’s done is done.”

She opened the door and was greeted by the first crashing notes of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony.

Dweezil chirped his displeasure as she dived across the bed to reach her cell phone.

“Sabian,” she answered breathlessly on the second ring.

“Dreaming of me again?” a man’s voice purred in her ear.

Alex rolled her eyes. “You wish.”

Varik Baudelaire laughed. “Well, you can’t blame me for asking when you answer the phone like that.”

“I know you didn’t call at this hour to flirt.” She could hear distant voices over the line and the sound of dried leaves rustling in a breeze. “Where are you?”

“Nassau County Community College campus, outside the women’s dorm,” he answered.

“Crime scene?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. You’ve been keeping track of the Mindy Johnson disappearance?”

“The girl that went missing three days ago. Yeah, I’m familiar.”

“Her car just turned up. We’re processing it now.”

“Why call me?”

“I need you here.”

“I’m suspended, remember?”

“Not anymore. I already cleared it with Damian.”

Alex’s eyebrows rose and she checked the clock again. “How long have you been there?”

“Since a little after one.”

Three hours on scene was a long time to process a car. “You said you were trying to figure out if you had a crime scene. What do you mean?”

Varik sighed and the weight of the past few hours seemed to be carried in the sound. “Open the bond and I’ll show you.”

Six years ago, they’d been lovers, engaged to be married, until he attacked her, savaging her neck and giving her the scar she now unconsciously traced with her finger. He’d taken her blood and forged a psychic bond between them. Time and distance had weakened the blood-bond but two weeks ago, she’d turned the tables and attacked him, restrengthening the bond.

Alex drew a steadying breath and lowered the mental barriers she’d erected to protect her mind from Varik’s. The low-level hum she always heard in the back of her mind grew louder, accompanied by a pressure comparable to a mounting headache. Her awareness expanded until it met a warm tide of thoughts and memories, and her consciousness merged with Varik’s.

Images, sounds, and smells assaulted her: a three-story brick building, snippets of conversations, the clean scent of rain, a Honda Accord with its driver’s-side door open and engine left idling. The final vision focused on a small figure, a doll clothed in a white dress lying in a sea of darkness. Along with the doll came a wave of emotions ranging from disgust to anxiety to recognition.

Alex latched on to the sense of recognition, pulling on it like a loose thread, following it back to its source. Alarm and anger pulsed through the bond and left her
reeling when Varik threw up his mental barriers, severing the connection. She fought against the vertigo that threatened to overwhelm her and raised her own psychic shields once more.

“How soon can you be here?” Varik asked.

She evaded his question. “What’s the significance of the doll?”

“I don’t know.”

“Like hell you don’t. You recognized it. What’s going on?”

“I said I don’t know, Alex.”

“Yes, you do. I sensed it in you.”

Silence filled the line.

“Damn it, Varik. If you want me to help, then you have to talk to me.”

“We’ll talk when you get here.”

“Varik—”

“When you get here,” he snapped and ended the call.

Alex stared at her cell phone for a moment before closing it in frustration. “You’re damn right we’ll talk,” she grumbled, rolling over the bed to gain her feet.

As she dressed, the image of the doll remained fixed in her mind’s eye. She felt none of the emotions she’d sensed from Varik upon seeing it. Why wouldn’t he tell her anything over the phone, or more important, through the blood-bond? What was it about this doll that had him so spooked?

“Only one way to find out.” She shrugged into a dark brown leather jacket and secured her Glock in a holster at her hip. Grabbing her keys beside the television, she
ran a hand over Dweezil’s back. “Guard the place and behave yourself.”

The cat yawned and rolled onto his back, exposing his fuzzy belly, which she quickly scratched and was rewarded with a low, rumbling purr.

Alex stepped into the brightly lit hotel hallway and made certain the door locked behind her. She stalked past the other rooms containing sleeping patrons and waited for the elevator.

Her apartment had been damaged in a fire a few weeks prior and wasn’t ready for her return. She’d been staying with her brother, Stephen, in a studio apartment he rented out over Crimson Swan, Jefferson’s only legal blood bar for vampires. However, arsonists led by the now former sheriff of Nassau County, Harvey Manser, had destroyed the bar, leaving her homeless once again.

The hotel room in which she was staying had originally been reserved by Varik. Her suspension from the Bureau left the town without an Enforcer so the Bureau had assigned Varik as her temporary replacement and had provided him with a short-term apartment. He, in turn, had given his hotel room to Alex. She’d offered to reserve her own room but he’d insisted, claiming that the room was already paid for in advance.

She didn’t believe his story, just as she didn’t believe that he didn’t know more about the doll than he was claiming.

The elevator arrived and the doors slid open. She pushed the button that would take her to the lobby.

As the doors shut, another door opened and closed
somewhere in the distance, bringing to mind her encounter—or lack of an encounter—in the Hall of Records.

Machinery whirred overhead and, while the elevator descended, she was on edge. Dread settled over her like a shroud and she couldn’t shake it.

The elevator reached the first floor and the doors opened to reveal a well-lit, empty lobby.

Alex silently chided herself as she passed the vacant front desk. She was allowing the events of recent weeks to get to her. Now she had an opportunity to make up for some of her mistakes.

And yet when she stepped into the rainy predawn gloom, the sense that some unseen menace lay in wait, watching, quickened her steps until she was running when she reached her dark green Jeep Grand Cherokee.

She climbed inside the SUV and locked the doors. Her heart beat was deafening in the confines of the cab. She glared at herself in the rearview mirror and muttered, “Get a hold of yourself. You’re acting like a frightened school girl.”

Pushing aside the anxiety that still swirled around her like a palpable cloud, she fired up the Jeep’s engine and guided the vehicle out of the parking lot, determined not to squander the opportunity she’d been given.

And determined to stop jumping at shadows.

Basements weren’t possible in southern Mississippi for two reasons: a high water table and a layer of shifting
clay within the ground. That was why so many old houses had immense attic space to compensate.

Above or below ground didn’t matter to him though. All he needed was privacy and the attic offered it.

The doorway was well-hidden. He’d made certain it wouldn’t be noticed by the casual observer. Not that he had many visitors.

A door in the second-floor hall opened to stairs that led to a portion of the attic. A very small portion used for actual storage. The rest of the attic could be accessed by a false panel concealed behind an oversized print of Marcel Duchamp’s
Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 2.
The Cubist painting depicted both a woman and a staircase that were all blocks and overlapping angles with little separating the moving nude figure from the irregular background.

The irony was too much. He laughed every time he opened the panel and climbed the hidden stairs, as he did now. Reaching the top step, he entered the wide expanse that was his private heaven.

Shelves containing his most precious collection lined the walls. Bins filled with all the bits needed to create his masterpieces were arranged in a neat row on his workstation. Lamps hung overhead and bathed the table in soft light.

He pulled a rolling stool from under the table and sat down with a sigh. It felt good to be returning to work. He pushed a button on a remote control and the opening overture for
Carmen
filtered through concealed speakers. His eyes dipped shut. The music surrounded him, caressed him, and lulled his senses into a calm.

Tonight had been a very good night. He’d seen
her.
It had been a brief glimpse only, but it had been enough to rekindle his desire, to assure him that his work was not in vain.

He’d even heard her voice. Her sweet, angelic voice calling to him, seeking him out.

Opening his eyes, he removed the protective drape from his current work. It was crude but the subtle features were taking shape in the face. Each doll he created was perfect, an exact copy of the Living Doll he’d seen long ago. Each imbued with the vital essence he hoped would bring her to him.

His gaze flickered across the attic to his latest acquisition.

She stared at him, eyes wide and wild. She hadn’t struggled in the same manner as her predecessor so the bindings were minimal. Bands across her forehead and throat kept her head immobile. Her arms lay naturally along her sides with black straps holding them securely in place at the elbows and wrists. A special harness crossed over her shoulders and then over her stomach. More straps held her thighs and shins in place. She said nothing even though her mouth remained uncovered.

He smiled and picked up the new doll’s head from the table.

This
one was special.

This
was the one that would finally bring the Living Doll to him.

This
was the one that would make her his.

Forever.