Kiss of Death (10 page)

I bite my lip. “I know what you mean. But I put you on the spot. I didn't think we'd actually talk to him. That he'd ask all those questions. I just wanted to soak up the atmosphere tonight, observe the community in its own environment.”

Mercedes puts her hand on my arm. “I know. Seriously, it's all good. Besides, we got through it.”

I shudder. “He gives me the…creeps.”

“Creeps? Sure didn't look that way to me. He's…divine.”

“Okay,
creeps
isn't the right word.
Disturbingly alluring
might be a better way to describe it.”

Mercedes is silent for a while, staring at the doorway into the main club. Eventually she says: “The scary thing is, I wanted him and that didn't disturb me one little bit.”

 

True to his word, Darren is waiting up for me when I get home.

“How'd you go?”

“Mmm…good question.” I put my keys on the kitchen counter and flop onto the sofa next to him. “I met Anton Ward.”

“The leader of the group you were telling me about?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And?”

“He's an interesting guy, all right.” I drape my legs over Darren's lap and semi-recline on the couch. “He said he could sense something about me. That my life energy was particularly strong.”

“And you don't think it was just a line?”

I screw up my face. “I don't think so. That's the problem. He was very…intense and very sure of himself.”

“He's the leader of a community of vampires and extremely wealthy…wouldn't you expect confidence?”

“Yes. But this was…different. I can't explain it, but I really think he could sense something different, something spiritual about me.” I prop myself up on my elbows. “Do you think it's possible?”

Darren shrugs. “Who knows? It sounds unlikely, but anything's possible, right?”

“Guess so.”

Darren takes off my boots. “Now, let's see if I can get these pants off you.”

I laugh. “You may need help. They're practically glued on.”

“I've got time.”

I guess all is forgiven indeed.

Darren runs his hands down the sides of my pants and plays with the laces and the flesh in between before moving his hands upward. He tries to slip his hand under the corset, but it's too tight. “Some women's clothes need instruction manuals.”

I laugh and sit up with my back to him. “There's a zip at the back.”

His hand brushes against my shoulder blades as he moves his way to the zipper and pulls it down. I stand up and pull him to standing, too, before leaning back into him and wiggling my hips against him. He lets out a little groan and pulls me even closer. Lifting my arms above
my head, he takes the cue and pulls the tight corset up and over my head.

I lean back into him once again and move my hands onto his outer thighs and around to his butt. “Ten points for degree of difficulty.” I rub my hands along his tight butt and pull him closer to me, while he runs kisses up my shoulder to my neck. When his hands move to my stomach and breasts, it's my turn to let out a little groan.

Eager to get him naked, I turn around and take off his polo shirt, before raking my hands along his chest and biceps. He leans into me, forcing me backward and onto the sofa, where he starts working on the leather pants.

He looks up at me and gives me a wicked smile. “They look amazing.” He gives another few tugs and I wiggle, until eventually they slide down my hips, along with my underwear. He places delicate kisses up my legs, but I don't need foreplay, not tonight. I pull him upward and wrap my legs around his waist. On the way up he runs his hands along my thighs and lets his fingers linger to test the waters.

“You are ready,” he says breathily at my ear, resting most of his body weight on his elbows but not actually giving me what I want.

I move my hips impatiently. “Stop teasing me.”

He's playing with me now, moving himself closer to me but then moving his hips away. His kisses shift from my mouth to my ear. “Maybe
I'm
not ready.”

But he doesn't give me time to respond before he's inside me. A groan of relief and pleasure washes over me and I pull him in farther. We move together rhythmically, starting off slow. I can't get close enough to him, can't get enough of him, and I wrap my arms and legs around him.

Our kisses become less tender and more urgent and several minutes later I can tell from his ragged breaths that he's close. I flip us over so I'm on top and suddenly my thoughts turn to Anton Ward. The fantasy is both
disturbing and arousing. I dig my nails into Darren's skin and a few seconds later he comes, followed closely by me.

Monday, 8:45 a.m.

I
arrive at our offices on the corner of Wilshire Boulevard and Veteran Avenue much later than usual. I haven't had nearly enough sleep, but then again I'm not normally out clubbing on a Sunday night.

The building is set back about three hundred feet from both roads; and the surrounding lawns, landscaped gardens and a large visitor car park give the Federal Building a sense of space, a rare thing so close to downtown L.A. As I pass through the turnstiles I give the security guard a nod and watch her direct a visitor through the metal detector. The building's entrance is separated into two sections—public to the right and employees on the left. While visitors must go through a full security check, including unloading their bags and pockets for the X-ray machine, employees simply swipe their ID card to activate the turnstiles. However, a much more intensive security system stands between the lobby and the secure levels.

Today, I've hit the building during one of its slower times, so at least I don't have to wait my turn for access. I move to the nearest “pod” and swipe my card. The pod
opens and once I'm inside the door closes behind me. Next I type in my password, which opens the front of the pod and spits me into the secure foyer toward elevators that access levels eleven to twenty. On the twelfth floor I weave my way through the open-plan offices, saying good morning to Melissa as I approach her desk.

She looks up and gives me a smile. “Hey. You're in late.”

I lean on Melissa's desk, noticing that Brady, the assistant director of the L.A. Field Office, is at his desk, head down. “I've got a new case. It's a really unusual one.”

“You sworn to secrecy or can you spill the beans?”

“Seen the news recently?” The local stations had started reporting the discovery of a body in Temescal Gateway Park around midday yesterday. Today, Sherry's name will be released, but we'll keep the puncture marks to ourselves.

“Sure,” Melissa says.

“I'm working the homicide in Temescal Park.”

“Really?” She looks at me. “So it's not just a regular homicide.” Melissa knows that the FBI, and my services, wouldn't be called in for a run-of-the-mill murder. Just like I did when I got the call yesterday.

“No.”

She nods but doesn't press for details. Melissa likes to talk, but she knows when to keep her mouth shut. “Must have been a busy twenty-four hours,” she says. “You look tired.”

I instinctively put my hand up to my eyes. “And I thought I'd put enough concealer on.”

“Not for a trained eye like mine.”

I smile. “I was up pretty late last night.”

Mercedes and I left the bar just after midnight. We probably should have stayed for longer to try to find and observe Damien Winters or our rogue four, but we were both tired…and a little unsettled by Ward. Knowing
Darren was waiting for me was also an incentive to come home.

“And I didn't sleep so well.”

“Again? What's up?”

I'm not about to tell Melissa that at least a couple of nights a week I have dreams…nightmares…that seem to come and go all night, ensuring I wake up feeling like I've only had a couple of hours' sleep. And I'm certainly not going to tell her that of the dreams I manage to remember, some of them come true. Not that any of that has to do with last night. I guess I'd better buy a better concealer.

I shrug. “I'm a light sleeper.”

Her eyes narrow a little.

“Seriously, I always have been.”

Her concern turns to a cheeky grin. “Your man's in town, isn't he?”

I give her a smile. “As a matter of fact, yes.” Although he's only partially to blame for the dark circles.

“Now that explains it.” She gives me another wicked grin. “So no chic flicks tonight?”

I give a little half chuckle. “Not tonight.” Although the way this case is going, Darren may have flown up for nothing.

“Melissa.”

We both turn to the source of the voice—Brady.

“Yes, sir.” Melissa picks up her pad and pen. “Catch you later,” she says before following Brady back into his office.

I give her a wave and make my way deeper into the belly of the twelfth floor, which houses the Criminal Division of the L.A. Field Office as well as Brady, the big boss. The L.A. office has four main divisions—Counterterrorism, Criminal, the Counterintelligence and Cyber Division, and Intelligence Division. Additionally, it's got programs in white-collar crime; civil rights; and
organized crime, including gang-related activities, housing one of the L.A. Safe Streets task forces. All in all, the FBI in L.A. employs 1,200 people in the L.A. headquarters and our ten resident agencies scattered across the L.A. area. The satellite offices reach from Santa Maria in the northwest to Palm Springs in the southeast corner of the FBI's L.A. territory. We cover a lot of ground, which ensures we're always busy.

While my computer boots, I look at the weekly planner that sits on my desk. It always starts off so neat, but by the end of each week a host of scribble written at various angles occupies most of the white space—names, figures, notes on autopsy results, phone numbers. On Friday afternoons I transfer unfinished things across to the next week and one of my tasks for today was to draft a presentation for the LAPD. There have been some significant changes in the LAPD's Homicide team across the city, and Brady wants me to put together a briefing targeted specifically at Homicide and what profiling services we can provide them from here, and via the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico. The presentation's definitely on hold for today, but I do have four weeks until D-day. My first priority now is profiling Sherry's killer, or killers, for Sloan.

My phone's already showing a voice mail, so I dial in to pick it up.

“Hey, it's Sloan. Give me a call when you're in.”

The message was left just before seven-thirty this morning.

I punch in Sloan's number and she picks up after two rings.

“Sloan.” The tone is gruff.

“It's Agent Anderson.”

“Hey. How'd it go last night?”

“Pretty well. I got a good feel for the club and the culture.”

“Did you see Ward or Winters? Or that rogue foursome Cheryl mentioned?”

“I did run into Ward.”

“Really. And?”

“I ended up talking to him.”

“What?” Sloan sounds as surprised as I was when Ward walked up to us.

“Turns out the community's tight enough that Ward noticed us as newcomers.”

“Damn.”

“It wasn't too bad. And he did invite us to a private party at his house tonight.”

“Serious?” She pauses. “I guess you should fill me in on the club and Ward, but Carey and I were just about to leave to interview Davidson and Riley.” Sloan is exploring all angles, but it doesn't sound like she actually believes Ward or Riley and Davidson will lead us closer to the killer. “How's about I pick you up and we can talk in the car.”

“Sure. But I better not come in for the interview.”

“You met them?”

“No, but if I go to that party tonight Davidson and Riley will probably be there.”

“You're seriously thinking about going?”

“Yeah, I am. Ward and After Dark might be our perps, and if not, Ward's well known in the vampire community and might be able to help.”

We arrange to meet in twenty minutes on the small street that runs off Veteran and into the visitor parking. I quickly check my e-mails to make sure there's nothing urgent and decide to take my laptop and BlackBerry. Given I'll be sitting in the car while Sloan and Carey do their interview, I might as well use the time to check out a few things online, and the bigger the screen the better. I also grab a small digital recorder for Sloan to use.

Twenty minutes later I'm standing in front of the
Federal Building when Sloan and Carey pull up. I jump in the back.

“Start from the top.” Sloan pulls a U-turn.

“Hey, Anderson.”

“Morning, Detective Carey.”

“Yeah, yeah. Morning.” Sloan's not good on professional chitchat.

During the short drive to Davidson and Riley's apartment in West Hollywood I fill in Sloan and Carey, telling them everything about Malediction Society and my interaction with Anton Ward. I even tell them about his claim that I had a certain “energy” about me, figuring they'd laugh it off as bullshit. Especially if I make fun of it, too.

Sloan pulls into Poinsettia Place. “I presume you cleared it?”

“Cleared what?”

“You've made contact with a potential suspect or informant in an undercover capacity. And an undercover operation means paperwork and clearing it through the proper channels.”

“Not exactly.”

Sloan glances at me. “Is that a
no?
”

I hesitate, and can't help feeling like a naughty child being told off by her mother. “Yes, it's a no.” I stick to my guns. “But it's not an undercover operation. I just went to the club.”

“And you're talking about going to some party tonight, too.”

Damn, Sloan's got me.

Carey's silent, and I'm not sure if he agrees with Sloan or just doesn't want to get caught in the crossfire.

“What if After Dark is a cult and they are murdering people?” Sloan doesn't say it with much conviction and I know she still likes the ex-boyfriend or perhaps the professor for Sherry's murder. “Don't you think
you're exposing yourself, by not properly logging this investigation?”

Is Sloan right?

“And if they are involved, you're basically in. Do you know how long it would normally take an undercover operative to get into a group like After Dark? I know we don't know much about it yet, but it's a close-knit group and the fact that Ward knew you and your friend were new to L.A., to the bar…that shows how tight the community can be.”

I frown, not happy with the thought of an official undercover investigation. “I'll talk to the Bureau today.” I don't have much experience in the world of undercover and their assignments are often long-term. We may find evidence on Sherry's murder this week, through the autopsy or forensics, or the case could be open for months or years. I hope I haven't bitten off more than I can chew.

“Let's do this by the book, Anderson.” Sloan pulls up. “This is it.”

Davidson and Riley's apartment is the polar opposite of the Brentwood houses we visited yesterday. We've come from six-figure-plus salaries to double digits, from large, perfectly kept houses to a two-story apartment complex in desperate need of a paint job.

“Sit tight and we'll be back soon. I've got a good memory, so I'll give you a rundown on the conversation.”

“Actually—” I pull the recorder out of my bag “—I brought this.”

Sloan takes the recorder and looks it over.

“Just press that button.” I point to the small red button.

She shakes her head and hands it to Carey. “I'll need my glasses to see that.”

Carey lets out a hearty laugh and then stifles it when
he sees his partner's dagger eyes. “Okay.” He forces a smile. “Let's go.”

“Hey, before you guys go inside, where are you at with Sherry's details?”

“Credit card transactions will be through this afternoon and the same with her cell phone records. The parents said she hardly ever used the home phone, so we'll start with the cell. I've checked with UCLA, too. Sherry's acting class is scheduled for 2:00 p.m. today, so that would tie in well with our surprise visit.”

I nod. “And her computer?”

“I've put a request in, but apparently the computer guys are running behind.”

“Mind if I get one of the Bureau techs on it?”

Sloan looks at Carey and then shrugs. “If you think it'll speed things up, go for it.”

“I'll see if anyone can move on it today.”

“Sure.” Sloan gets out of the car. “See you soon,” she says before closing the door.

I call Mercedes directly. “Hey, are you at work?”

“Uh-huh, but tired. You?”

“Wrecked. I'm getting too old for clubbing.”

Mercedes laughs. “Me, too.”

“Listen, do you know if anyone there has got time to look at our vic's laptop?”

“I'll find out and get back to you.”

“Thanks, Mercedes.”

While Sloan and Carey are inside interviewing Riley and Davidson, I decide to search ViCAP, the Bureau's national database of violent crimes. It's possible there have been other cases of a vampire bite or puncture wounds like Sherry's. We don't know a definitive cause of death yet, so I put in the puncture marks as wounds. I get twenty-one matches, but after I sift through them it becomes obvious none were like this case, potentially linked to vampirism. I also do a keyword search with
“vampire” and “vampirism” and get one match—a case from 1998 when Rod Ferrell, a self-proclaimed vampire, killed his girlfriend's parents.

I read through the case details logged on ViCAP, including the police interview with Ferrell and his confession. I also Google the case to read through the different media reports on the incident. Rod Ferrell and his gang certainly believed they were creatures of the night, but the parents were killed from blunt-force trauma—blows to the head. Nothing in the attack was carried out in a vampiric way, so it was only the group's Gothic nature and Ferrell's own claims of vampirism that linked the case in the media with the ViCAP database.

I'm still reading the last article on my computer screen when the driver-side door suddenly opens and I jump.

Sloan laughs. “What are you reading, Anderson? Something spooky?”

“Ha, ha.”

Sloan and Carey climb back in the car.

“I found a vampire case in ViCAP, but it's not related to ours.”

“What's the case?” Sloan asks, looking back at me.