Dark Hunger (24 page)

Holy shit. What if he had gained immortality as a demon or a vampire and had stolen the blood to feed his bloodlust? They needed to check the grave, see if his body was still there.

“There’s something else,” Blackwell said.

“What?”

“According to our information, Reverend Narius didn’t exist until three years ago.”

Vincent punched in Quinton’s number to relay the news. Maybe they’d caught a break.

Narius just might be their demon.

Quinton contemplated the odd aura he’d detected around Shayla Larue as he drove toward the zoo. His cell phone rang and he saw it was Vincent so he answered.

“Listen, Quinton, I found something interesting. Reverend Narius didn’t exist until three years ago.”

“What?”

“I’m trying to find out more about him, but you should check him out.”

“We’re on our way to do that now.” He hung up, and rubbed his hand over his mouth. The monks had taught him to trust in spirituality. Was Narius taking advantage of believers and faith seekers in order to steal souls for the dark side?

Traffic thickened as they neared the zoo, and a flock of vultures lingered overhead, black monsters barely visible through the heavy fog. Surprisingly, they hadn’t frightened off the crowds of locals and tourists rushing to see the exhibits. The zoo housed more than thirteen hundred animals, everything from exotic white tigers to albino alligators.

The wind tossed dry leaves around their feet as they walked to the gate, bought tickets and a program, then strolled through the zoo, looking for anyone suspicious and heading toward the tent where Narius was scheduled to speak.

Children tackled the climbing wall and raced to ride the Endangered Species Carousel and the Swamp Train, while teens and adults alike lined up for the Safari Simulator. A special presentation with live alligators had drawn dozens of visitors. A voodoo priestess sat in the center of a stage not far away, surrounded by a display of various voodoo dolls and mojos, spinning tales of local legends and folklore.

Vendors peddled treats—alligator on a stick, beignets, and heaping bowls of gumbo and Jambalaya—while crafters and souvenir vendors sold replicas of the animals in the zoo, T-shirts, hats, voodoo dolls and kits, along with Mardi Gras masks, beads, and books on ghosts and other mysterious creatures rumored to inhabit the swamp, especially the infamous loup-garou.

Excitement from the festivities hummed through the crisp fall air, yet Quinton couldn’t shake the feeling of impending death.

Tonight at midnight.

At least most of these women and kids would be home by then.

But where would the bomber attack? With the town’s festivities, any number of places could be targeted.

Narius was supposed to speak at three at the zoo for the Swamp Festival. He planned to visit several hospitals, including a children’s ward, and he was to attend a charity fund-raiser in the evening, to help raise money to rebuild homes for the needy, which was scheduled to last until midnight. The shelters weren’t listed on his agenda, and with his packed schedule, Quinton didn’t see how he’d fit them in.

He would follow him anyway, and if he was behind the bombings, he’d kill the SOB.

They grabbed po’boys and took a seat at a picnic table across from the stage while the reverend spoke to the crowd.

While he ate, Quinton thumbed through the program. “This is interesting. Dr. Wynn, the chief medical examiner from the Bureau, is here, too. It says that he grew up in New Orleans and contributed time and money to help the locals recoup after the hurricane.”

Reverend Narius raised his hand, gesturing across the crowd. “Let’s turn to John 8:7: ‘He who is without sin among you, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.’ ”

“Amen!” several people shouted.

“Praise the Lord.”

“Yes, we’re all sinners,” Reverend Narius said. “I, too, have walked on the side of sin. I, too, have given in to temptation with impure thoughts and actions.” His voice rose to a fever pitch. “But God sent Jesus to die on the cross so that we might receive forgiveness for our sins. I command you now to turn your life over to the Lord. Do so, and you will find redemption and walk into the land of immortality.”

Quinton frowned, wondering what kind of immortality the reverend promised behind closed doors. Narius offered the benediction, then crossed the stage and descended the steps as applause rang out.

Quinton and Annabelle waited until he’d woven through the throng, shaking hands and accepting praise, then approached. Why couldn’t people see his lack of sincerity?

Narius’s smile faded. “Are you two following me?”

“As a matter of fact, we did come to talk to you,” Annabelle said.

Quinton cleared his throat. “Yes, Reverend. Mind telling us why you didn’t exist until three years ago?”

Anger flared in Narius’s eyes, replacing his practiced smile, and he gestured for them to step aside behind the tent. “Where did you hear that?”

“I have sources,” Quinton stated. “Very reliable sources.”

The reverend leaned closer to them, his calm facade slipping. “Have you ever done something that you’ve regretted?” he asked in a low voice.

Hell, yeah. Getting involved with Annabelle.

But killing? No. The ones he’d eliminated deserved to suffer.

“Well, I did,” he admitted quietly. “But three years ago, I was saved, and when I was reborn, I saw a chance to make a new life and help others. To do so, I needed to kill the person I was before.” His tone sounded grim. “That meant assuming a new name.”

“Is that the only person you killed?” Quinton asked.

Narius’s eyes narrowed in cold fury.

“What did you do that was so bad?” Annabelle asked.

“That’s between me and my Savior,” he said quietly. Then he turned and stalked away.

Anger suffused Annabelle. Didn’t the reverend know that his secret only spiked her curiosity? That she wouldn’t stop until she discovered the truth?

Just as she hadn’t backed down from Quinton in the beginning.

Then everything had changed…

But she wasn’t backing down from this bomber.

“I’m surprised by the crowd at the festival,” Quinton said. “With the press alerting everyone about the bomber’s pattern, I expected more people to stay home.”

“I guess they refuse to let terrorists frighten them into not living their lives. Besides,” she added, “we haven’t publicized the fact that New Orleans might be attacked tonight.”

She watched a family of four strolling along, the father hoisting the toddler onto his shoulders, and her chest clenched as she recalled her own father doing the same.

“Maybe we should issue some kind of warning tonight.”

“That would only create panic. And if we’re wrong?”

“We weren’t wrong about Charleston.”

He sighed, looking weary.

She gestured toward Narius, who was still shaking hands. “Shall we stay with the reverend?”

“We have no other suspects,” he said through gritted teeth.

And it was only a few hours until midnight.

Somber, they headed to the car, and they trailed his limo to the children’s hospital while Annabelle checked the schedule of the day’s events.

“The bars are all possibilities as targets, since they’re hosting celebrations. Or perhaps the jazz festival.”

“We’ll stop by there and check it out,” Quinton said.

Annabelle nodded. “My guess is that they’ll hit the big reception for the fund-raiser. It looks as if the reverend will be there. In fact, he’s being honored. And Dr. Wynn is attending, too.” She frowned. “Along with the governor, Dr. Gryphon, several wealthy donors, volunteers, social workers for the state, and some of the FEMA staff.”

“You’re right, that may be the target,” Quinton said. “And if Narius is involved, he might have set it up so he’ll be present to watch. That’s not uncommon for serial killers.”

He phoned Detective DeLang, and Annabelle listened while he discussed the security measures they’d implemented in the city for the night.

Then he called the tech at Homeland Security. “Check that online support group for veterans again. See if you find anyone posting from New Orleans.”

“I’ll get on it, but it’ll take time,” the tech said.

Quinton gritted his teeth. “Work as fast as you can. It could mean life or death.”

When Quinton disconnected the call, they’d reached Woldenberg Park, where the jazz festival was being held. Vendors were in full swing offering local Cajun foods and beer. Already people were spread out on blankets, and the park was packed as the musicians began to play.

Uniforms and plainclothes policemen were interspersed among the guests. Quinton struggled to read thoughts as they combed through the crowd.

The scent of garbage rolled off one man, and Quinton paused by a park bench, but the minute he tapped into the man’s thoughts, he realized he was an undercover cop.

“This place is covered. Let’s check out Bourbon Street and go into some of the clubs.”

She nodded, and they returned to the car, the clock ticking.

“We’ll need dress clothes for tonight,” she said quietly.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Right.”

Before they stopped to shop, they visited several landmarks, including the House of Blues, the riverfront shops, and the French Market.

Frustration nagged at Quinton as the time passed. At least in Charleston they’d had a name.

Here, they had nothing.

They stopped at a boutique in the shopping district where he purchased a suit, and she bought a little black dress and strappy sandals.

Quinton drew inward, resorting to his professional persona. Shayla’s threat hung over him like a black cloud of doom.

He phoned the tech again. “Do you have an update?”

“Not yet.”

“Can you check something else? Pull a list of all the people invited to this awards ceremony tonight, and see if anyone there is a veteran.”

“Sure. I’ll get back to you.”

He thanked him and hung up, then parked at the hotel, and they climbed out. In spite of logic telling him to keep his distance, that he needed to be clearheaded and focused tonight in order to ferret out this demon, Annabelle’s scent drove him crazy as they hurried to their rooms.

He needed to expel the tension in his body so he would be free to focus.

But the only way to do that was to have her. To touch her, taste her, work out his hunger for her.

“I’ll go get dressed,” Annabelle said. She gave him a weary look, then hurried to the shower.

As he heard the water start to run, thoughts of her naked body consumed him. He paced the room, trying to banish them, but when she emerged wearing that low-cut dress with the slit up her thigh, his cock hardened and desire shot through his balls.

What if a demon did show tonight? What if the demon hurt Annabelle, and he failed to protect her?

His blood turned hot, dark thoughts flowing through his mind, and he felt his evil side emerging.

On the heels of that darkness, panic tore at him. He wouldn’t fail.