Destined for an Early Grave (30 page)

Y
OU’RE SAYING THE MAN JUST…DISAPPEARED
?

The police officer couldn’t quite keep the disbelief out of his tone. Denise fought the urge to slap him. She didn’t know how much more she could take. She’d already had to call her family and tell them this unthinkable news about Paul, grieved with them as they arrived at the hospital, then gave her report to the police. The one they seemed to have such trouble believing.

“As I said, when I looked up, the killer was gone.”

“No one at the bar saw anyone out there, ma’am,” the officer said for the third time.

Denise’s temper snapped. “That’s because they were inside when we were attacked. Look, the guy choked my cousin. Doesn’t Paul have bruises around his neck?”

The officer glanced away. “No, ma’am. The medical examiner hasn’t looked at him yet, but the paramedics didn’t see any signs of strangulation. They did say they found evidence of cardiac arrest…”

“He’s only twenty-five years old!” Denise burst out, ice sliding up her spine. Paul was dead—of an apparent heart attack. Just like Amber and Aunt Rose. Denise knew she hadn’t imagined the man who’d been immune to both pepper spray and silver nitrate. The one who’d disappeared in a blink—and the big dog that had come out of nowhere.

Of course, she could relay none of this to the officer. He already looked at her like she was teetering on the crazy end of distraught. It hadn’t escaped Denise’s notice that when she’d been treated for pepper spray, her blood had also been taken, presumably to check her alcohol level. She’d already been asked multiple times how much she’d drank before leaving the bar. It was clear nothing she said, even leaving out mention of the supernatural, would be taken seriously if the medical examiner ruled that Paul had died of a heart attack.

Well, she knew people who’d believe her enough to investigate, but none of them was in this city, let alone this room.

“Can I go home now?” Denise asked.

A flash of relief crossed the officer’s face. It only made Denise want to smack him more. “Sure. I can arrange for a squad car to take you.”

“I’ll call a cab.”

He stood, bobbing his head. “Here’s my card if you remember anything else.”

Denise took it only because wadding it up and throwing it at him would look questionable. “Thank you.”

She waited until she was inside her house before she made the call. No need to have the taxi driver talk about how his latest fare had babbled on about a murder by a man who
might
have turned into a dog. If the police found out she’d said that, she could forget about them following up on any leads she gave them, even if they did figure out this was a murder.

On the third ring, however, an automated voice picked up and intoned that the number she’d dialed had been disconnected. Denise hung up. That’s right, Cat had been moving from place to place because some crazy vampire was stalking her. She obviously changed her number, too. Was Cat still overseas? How long had it been since Denise last spoke to her? Weeks, maybe.

Next Denise tried the number she had listed for Bones, Cat’s husband, but it, too, was disconnected. Denise dug around her house until she found an address book with the number for Cat’s mother in it. The number was from over a year ago, so no surprise when that was also out of service.

Frustrated, Denise flung the address book on her couch. She’d been avoiding contact with the undead world, but now when she needed someone plugged into it, she didn’t have anyone’s current number.

There had to be
someone
she could reach. Denise scrolled through the entries in her cell phone, looking for anyone who had connections to Cat. When she was almost at the end, one name leapt out at her.

Spade.
That’s right, she’d inputted his number in her phone three months ago, because Spade had been the one to pick her up the last time she saw Cat.

Denise pressed “Call,” praying she didn’t hear that chipper monotone telling her that the number was no longer in service. Three rings, four…

“Hallo?”

Denise felt light-headed with relief at hearing Spade’s distinctive English accent. “Spade, it’s Denise. Cat’s friend,” she added, thinking of how many Denise’s a centuries-old vampire probably knew. “I don’t seem to have Cat’s number and…I’m pretty sure some
thing
murdered my cousin. Maybe both cousins and my aunt, too.”

It came out in a babble that sounded nuts, even to her. She waited, hearing nothing but her breathing during the pause on the other line.

“This
is
Spade, isn’t it?” she asked warily. What if she’d hit the wrong number somehow?

His voice flowed back immediately. “Yes, apologies for that. Why don’t you tell me what you believe you saw?”

Denise noticed his phrasing, but she was too wired to argue about it. “I saw my cousin murdered by a man who didn’t even twitch when I maced him in the face. Then the next thing I saw, a big damn dog was standing where the man had been, but it ran off, and the police think my twenty-five-year-old cousin died of a heart attack instead of being strangled.”

Another silence filled the line. Denise could almost picture Spade frowning as he listened. The vampire scared her, but right now, she was more afraid of whatever had killed Paul.

“Are you still in Fort Worth?” he asked at last.

“Yes. Same house as…as before.
” When you dropped me off after killing a man in cold blood.

“Right. I’m sorry to inform you that Cat is in New Zealand. I can ring her or give you her number, but it would take a day at least for her to get to you, if not more.”

Her friend and expert on all things inhuman was halfway around the world. Great.

“…but I happen to be in the States,” Spade went on. “In fact, I’m in California. I could be there later today, have a look at your cousin’s body.”

Denise sucked in her breath, torn between wanting to find out what had killed Paul in the quickest way possible, and feeling edgy about it being Spade doing the investigating. Then she shoved that back. Paul, Amber, and her aunt’s death meant more than her being
uncomfortable
about who was helping her.

“I’d appreciate—”

Spade cut her off. “Expect me ’round noon.”

She looked at her watch. Less than six hours. She couldn’t get from California to Texas that fast if her life depended on it, but if Spade said he’d be there around noon, she believed him.

“Thanks. Can you tell Cat, um, that…”

“Perhaps it’s best if we don’t involve Cat or Crispin just yet,” Spade said, calling Bones by his human name as he always did. “They’ve had an awful time of it recently. No need to fret them if it’s something I can handle.”

Denise bit back her scoff. She knew what that translated to.
Or if you’ve just imagined all of this.

“I’ll see you at noon,” she replied and hung up.

The house seemed eerily quiet. Denise glanced out the windows with a shiver, telling herself the foreboding sensation she had was a normal reaction to her violent night. Just to be sure, however, she went through each room and checked the windows and doors. All locked. Then she forced herself to shower, trying to block the image of Paul’s blue-tinged face from her mind. If she hadn’t agreed to go out drinking with him, he might still be alive now. Or what if she’d immediately run into the bar for help, instead of staying in the parking lot? Could she have saved Paul if she’d come out with a bunch of people who could have scared the attacker off? He’d left as soon as people responded to her screams; maybe she
could
have saved Paul if she hadn’t stood there uselessly macing his killer.

Denise was so caught up in her thoughts that she ignored the tapping sounds until they happened a third time. Then she froze. They were coming from her front door.

She pulled her Glock out of her nightstand. It was filled with silver bullets, which might only slow down a vampire but would kill anything human.

What if it was someone trying to pick the lock? Should she call the police or try to see what it was first? If it was just a raccoon nosing around and she called the cops, they’d
really
discount anything she said in the future.

Denise kept the gun pointed toward the sounds as she edged around to the front windows. If she angled her body just so, she could see—

“What?” Denise gasped out loud.

On her porch was a little girl, something red on her outfit. She was tapping on the door in a way that looked hurt or exhausted or both. Now Denise could make out the word “help” coming faintly from her.

Denise set down the gun and yanked open the door. The little girl’s face was streaked with tears and her whole frame trembled.

“Daddy’s hurt,” the child lisped.

She picked her up, looking around for a car or any other indicator of how the little girl had gotten there.

“What happened, sweetie? Where’s your daddy?” Denise crooned as she took the child inside.

The little girl smiled. “Daddy’s dead,” she said, her voice changing to something low and deep.

Denise’s arms fell at the instant deluge of weight, horror filling her as she saw the little girl morph into the same man who’d murdered Paul.

“Thanks for letting me in,” he said, his hand clapping over Denise’s mouth just in time to cut off her scream.

Spade closed his mobile phone, mulling the conversation he’d just had. Denise MacGregor fancied her cousin had been murdered by some sort of weredog—except weredogs or were-anything didn’t exist.

The only reason he was making the trip to Texas was on the off chance that there was another explanation. It was possible a vampire murdered her cousin and then tranced Denise into thinking she’d seen him transform into a dog. Human memories were so easy to alter. And if Denise
had
witnessed a vampire attack, the murderer might decide to use more than glamour to make sure she didn’t retell the tale. Since Denise was his best mate’s friend, he’d go to ensure her safety, if another vampire was involved.

Spade cast a look at his bed with regret. He’d long ago mastered the crippling lethargy that came with sunrise, but that didn’t mean he relished a trip to Texas now. Ah, well. It was the least he could do to ensure Crispin and Cat didn’t rush back from New Zealand for what was, in all likelihood, just the emotional breakdown of a human who’d snapped from too much grief and stress.

He remembered the look Denise gave him the last time he’d seen her. Specks of blood dotted her clothes, her face had been as pale as Spade’s own ivory skin, and her hazel eyes held a mixture of revulsion and fear.

“Why did you have to kill him?” she’d whispered.

“Because of what he intended to do,” Spade replied. “No one deserves to live after that.”

She hadn’t understood. Spade did, though. All too well. Humans might be more forgiving with their punishments, but Spade knew better than to show a rapist, even a potential one, any naïve mercy.

He also remembered the last thing Denise said when he’d dropped her off at her house later that night.
I’m so sick of the violence in your world.
He’d seen that look on many humans’ faces, heard the same flat resonance in their voices, and it all ended the same. If Crispin weren’t so busy with everything that had happened lately, he’d explain to Cat how the kindest thing to do for her friend was to erase Denise’s memory of all things undead. Perhaps Spade would do that himself if Denise had become delusional. Kindness aside, if her grasp on reality
had
slipped, it would also eliminate a liability if everything Denise knew about them was erased from her recall.

Spade filled his satchel with enough clothes for a few days and went downstairs to the garage. Once settled behind the wheel of his Porsche, he put on dark shades and then clicked open the garage door. Bloody sun was already up. Spade gave it a baleful glare as he pulled out into the dawn.

Humans. Aside from tasting delicious, they were usually more trouble than they were worth.

Once again I have to thank God, for helping me achieve my old dreams while giving me strength to strive for new ones.

If I gave proper credit to everyone who’s helped me, encouraged me, or been instrumental in the success of my series this past year, I’d need a separate book. So to save space, I’ll mention a few people I couldn’t do this without: my editor, Erika Tsang, who continues to amaze me with support and insight that doesn’t just stop at making my books better. If I haven’t said it lately, I’m so grateful for all you do.

Thanks to Thomas Egner, whose beautiful covers are like reader magnets. Also thanks so much to Amanda Bergeron, Carrie Feron, Liate Stehlik, Karen Davy, Wendy Ho, and the rest of the fabulous team at Avon Books/HarperCollins.

Deepest gratitude to my agent, Nancy Yost, for your professional expertise, the outstanding attention you give your clients, and your invaluable assistance in guiding my career.

Thanks to the fans of the Night Huntress series, for continuing to allow me to share my world and characters with you. My books are only possible because of your enthusiasm and support. Simply put, you rule! Special thanks also go to Tage Shokker, Erin Horn, and Marcy Funderburk, for keeping my fan site such a fun place for readers—and me!—to hang out.

Melissa Marr and Ilona Andrews, I can’t thank you enough for your friendship, wisdom, critiques, and general awesomeness. The two of you have kept me steady through all the unexpected twists and turns this past year. “Sorority Sisters” for the win!

As always, to my husband and family…I’d be lost without you.