Hell's Belle (6 page)

I tentatively pushed myself up from the floor. Frankie grabbed me around my waist and hauled me to my feet so quickly that Max, who was still in his squat position, stared directly at my knees.

"Thanks," I said to Frankie, clearly not meaning it. He grinned and winked. Then he walked back to Dr. O, who was engrossed in some deep conversation with a student, beer untouched, completely oblivious to what was going on. Frankie dropped into his seat, a smug smile pasted on his face. He was so infuriating and he knew it.

Max was back on his feet and shot a look over in Frankie's direction. "You sure you’re okay?"

I shrugged. "Yeah. Don't mind Frankie. He's an absolute shit sometimes."

"Nina, can we talk?" Max said, turning serious.

I nodded and motioned for him to follow me to the bar. Two frat boys ordered shots of tequila. After carefully checking their IDs, I grabbed two shot glasses and reached for the cheap shit.

"I don't think last night was a random junkie looking for some cash." Max spoke so matter-of-factly that I jumped. The tequila I was pouring missed the shot glasses completely and spilled all over my hand.

"No? So what was it then?" I tried to sound nonchalant, wiping my tequila-soaked hand on my jeans before sliding the shots over to the frat boys.

"I was hoping you could tell me." He pulled out his smart phone, fiddled with it and held the screen towards me.

I took the phone from him and squinted at the screen. It was a picture of a gruesome crime scene. Four naked bodies, two women and two men, were laid out on the snow, their heads touching but bodies stretched out like a bizarre snowflake. It was a replica of the crime scene I took him to the previous night, only with fewer dead bodies. Their bodies were blue with cold. And there was a lot of blood.

Max swiped his finger against the phone's screen, and a new picture, even more graphic than the last, came up. It appeared that each body had a hole in the chest. It looked like the hearts were missing.

Another swipe, and there was close up on a weapon, but not just any old weapon. Against a blood-spattered snow background, a dagger exactly like the one Marcello used to attack me was painfully obvious.

I closed my eyes and feigned disgust. "Nasty. Why are you showing that to me?"

I hoped I sounded appropriately horrified. But my heart was racing. The dagger. Why was that damn dagger at a crime scene? And why would Marcello drop it? Could there be more than two out there, and this was just a really bizarre coincidence? I knew that was a giant stretch, but I really wanted to believe in coincidence right now.

"That dagger," Max began, his voice so damn even that it was unnerving me. "Is that the dagger from last night? The one that did this?" He ran his finger lightly over the scar on my neck. My stomach flipped and my skin tingled at his touch.

"Is there something you are not telling me?" Max asked, just as evenly as before. "Or not telling the cops?"

The sound of glass breaking was a welcome relief. "Holy CRAP!" Alfonso bellowed, but the words were slurred from one too many beers and sounded more like holly carp. "Open your eyes, people! Don't you see what that fucker is doing?"

I looked up at the television, and I saw Ami Bertrand leading a massive group of people up on the lawn of the state house.

"Al, it's just a demonstration," Babe rushed out of the stock room. The sound of shattered barware brought her out of hiding. "Remember, we did that when we were kids."

Alfonso continued, his voice rising. "It's happening now. It's all happening, and we ain't ready. We ain't ready at all. It wasn't supposed to be now. We ain't ready for this yet. Not yet."

Babe went over to Alfonso and held his face in her hands.

"Al," she said firmly. "I am taking you home. Now."

She looked directly into his eyes, which were filled with tears. Then she whispered into his ear, he nodded and looked down, exhausted.

Babe grabbed her coat off the hook, and led Alfonso out the door. He was pretty drunk and leaned heavily on her narrow shoulders. Babe was even smaller than me, and she didn't have vampire strength. I was impressed that she didn't buckle under Al's near dead weight.

"I'll tag along. You know, safety in numbers," Dr. O said. Then he extracted himself from his conversation and nodded at Max as he shuffled past. "It's a rough neighborhood, right, Agent?"

Wait. How the hell did he know Max was FBI?

Max nodded slowly, his eyes following Dr. O.

"Do I know him?" Max muttered to me.

I couldn't respond. My focus was on Dr. O's half-drained beer.  I felt a little light-headed, but probably because my nerves were shot. I swayed a bit.

Frankie suddenly appeared in front of me, catching me before I fell over. Of course, this made me feel even worse. Goddamn vampire speed wasn't exactly subtle.

"And you are?" Max glared at Frankie's hands, holding me firmly by the waist.

I was scanning my brain for a logical explanation for all this bizarre behavior, and came up empty.

"Frankie," he said, lowering his voice just a little. I caught a slight snarl at the corner of his mouth. Shit. He was showing off his fangs.
Here. In my bar.

"Frankie, this is Max," I said weakly. "From the FBI."

"Feds?" Frankie dropped his snarl, looking slightly interested.

My ears started to ring.

"And where are you from, Frankie?" Max's question sounded almost like a challenge.

"At the moment, Nevada. Just flew in. To see our Nina." He grabbed me around the shoulders and squished me into him.

"And you two know each other from?" Max questioned.

"Oh, we've known each other for eternity." Frankie smirked.

"Eternity is a bit dramatic," I squeaked out. "We sort of grew up together."

My face flashed hot, and the bar began to spin. As ringing in my ears grew louder, Casper from the hospital appeared and stood by Dr. O's chair. He waved and then made a beeline towards me, slipping his cold plasma ooze into me before I could protest.

"Need to talk," his voice rattled around in my head. "Those pictures. Same vampire."

"Get out!" I doubled over as the pain in my head blinded me.

"Nina? Nina!" I heard Frankie say. He sounded so far away. Then blackness washed over me.

CHAPTER 8

I could hear worried voices expressing concern. Someone called out for a cold wet cloth and a male voice shouted, "They are on their way!"

Babe was laying down some very choice words in Spanish. Crap. I had been out long enough for her to be back from taking Al home?

Right before I blacked out, Frankie was causing a scene, Max was suspicious as hell, and Casper had reappeared. Even if I wanted to sit up, I couldn't. My body wasn't ready to respond yet, and given the situation, I wasn't in any real hurry to open my eyes.

The cool damp cloth hit my forehead, and I took a deep breath. I felt vaguely like I was floating. A hand grabbed my wrist, checking my pulse. Then someone pulled me up to a sitting position.

"Hold her head back," Babe's voice commanded whoever had hold of me.

My head tipped back, and some foul-tasting liquid dropped into my mouth and ran down my throat. About a second after hitting my stomach, my esophagus felt like it was on fire. My eyes shot open. I started to hack.

"What the hell was that?" I sputtered, coughing and grabbing at my chest. My entire body was burning. I reached out and Babe caught onto my hand, her face a mix of concern and triumph. Once my coughing subsided, I noticed she was holding one of her dusty cobalt bottles.

"Thank God," she sighed and stood up.

I leaned back and my head slammed against something hard. I turned and saw Frankie sitting behind me. Just over his shoulder, Max looked kind of pissed.

I tried to push myself up from the floor but fell back into Frankie's chest again. My head was still fuzzy and I felt like I was hovering slightly above my body.

"EMTs are on the way," Max said. He sounded authoritative and decidedly unfriendly.

"Call them off," I groaned. I was not going back to the hospital. "I just need some sleep."

"You need to get looked at," Frankie said.

"So THIS is what you two can agree on?" I spat out. "And, Babe, what the hell was that?" I would swear it was moonshine.

"Something that can kick your ass and wake you up." She was on the top of a step stool, returning the dusty bottle to its perch high above the bar. She moved her way back down and looked sternly at me. "No hospital for you," she said matter-of-factly. "But someone needs to take you home and you need to rest."

"I've got my bike...." My protest faded as soon as I saw her face. I felt five years old again.

"You are in no condition to drive, especially after what I just gave you," Babe said as she crossed her arms. "Max, take her home."

She huffed away and started clearing the dirty glasses from the bar. She was done talking about it, and so, apparently, were the rest of us.

Max strode out the door. "I'll pull my car around to the front."

Frankie wrapped his arms gingerly around my middle and began to haul me up.

"I can do it," I hissed at him.

"Really?" His amusement was grating, especially since he was right. I gave in and let him hoist me to my feet.

"Thanks," I muttered. With his arm still around my waist, we began to walk slowly towards the door.

The icy air stung at my face but it cleared the cobwebs out of my mind. I got my footing back and gingerly let go of Frankie.

"You feel that?" he asked, his eyes scanning the darkness.

I was about to tell him he was nuts when something hit me. My body began tingling and my heart started racing. I too began searching the darkness, but I saw nothing.

"He's out there," Frankie nodded into the blackness.

"Seriously?" This was kind of freaking me out.

Frankie shushed me. A moment later, a sly grin began to crack his stoic facade. "I think I know where he is," he whispered.

A black Suburban pulled to the front of the bar, and Frankie opened the door and lifted me up to the seat. Max was in the driver’s side, looking concerned.

"Make sure she gets into her apartment," Frankie commanded. "Don't leave the house, Nina," he continued. "I'll swing by later." He squeezed my hand and I quickly caught his eyes. They were a bright, shining blue. He was ready to hunt. His body was a blur as he raced away from the SUV.

"I thought these were only for FBI agents on TV and in the movies. I didn't think you guys actually drove SUVs like this!" I said as I yanked the door closed.

"I see you're feeling better," Max said as he rolled his eyes at my comment. "So, where are we going?"

"You know where
Olneyville is?" I responded.

"You really hang out in the nicest parts of town." He glanced at me and turned on the GPS.

I shrugged. My parents owned an old factory building that I was slowly converting into apartments. Apart from the small toy factory that rented the top floor space, I was the only tenant. Well,
used
to be the only tenant. Frankie was moving into his basement lair sometime before daybreak.

Max was right.
Olneyville was a seriously crappy old industrial area. But the building was solid, my apartment was huge, and the area was pretty desolate, which was good for privacy. In terms of personal safety, hell, I was part vampire. The local thugs didn't scare me.

I looked into the side mirror, scanning the general direction where Frankie slipped into darkness.

"Want to give me the address, or do you want to keep sitting here?" Max tapped his fingers impatiently on the wheel.

"Sorry," I said, flustered. "50 Agnes Street."

"Now we're making some progress!" Max typed into the machine. Once the address was in place, he pulled onto Wickenden Street and headed towards the highway.

Now settled into his car, I glanced in the back seat. The seats were down, and I could have sworn there was a surfboard taking up space in the back.

"There's a storm coming in, and I heard there could be some decent swells." Max grinned sheepishly as he pulled onto the highway.

"I had a feeling you surfed," I watched the cars whiz by on Route 95. "But you may want to rethink your surfing plans. It's not just any storm. They are talking nor'easter. Those are no joke."

Max eased the car onto an exit ramp to a secondary highway, "A little storm doesn't scare me."

"You want the
Olneyville Square exit. It's coming up," I warned as Max whipped around cars like a NASCAR pro.

He tapped the GPS and glanced at me. He slowed as he eased onto the exit ramp, and stopped at a red light.

Olneyville was like a ghost town. On the edges of Providence, it was once the manufacturing hub of the state. But as factory jobs dried up, so did this pocket of the city.

Max made a left turn into the desolate industrial area. Old factory buildings lined both sides on the street, stark gang symbols
graffitied onto the old, red, brick walls. Some buildings were crumbling in on themselves.

Max hooked another left and braked in front of the smallest of the factory buildings, as the GPS sing-
songed, "You have reached your destination." I reached into my bag and pulled out a garage door opener. With the press of a button, an industrial garage door opened.

"Go on -- pull right in. It's safer for your car." I pressed the button again once the car cleared the doorway.

Inside was a small parking garage. Since I was the lone tenant, Max's was the only car there. With it parked, I led Max through a doorway that opened onto a hall, pulled out my keys and unlocked the fire door. With a satisfying whoosh, I pushed the door off to the side and walked into my apartment.

I motioned for Max to come inside, and he followed me down the dark narrow hallway. Once we reached the end, I hit the light switch, illuminating the airy loft.

Max looked around and let out a low whistle, taking it all in. A galley kitchen spread down the wall on the left. On the gleaming countertop sat a lit Our Lady of Guadalupe candle, just like the one at Babe's. Running the length of the kitchen was a large rustic wooden table, with benches on either side.

Directly in front of us was a living area, with two deep purple couches facing each other; a distressed wood coffee table sat between them. On the far wall was an office, although it looked more like a space shuttle command center with all the computer equipment, most still unplugged, on the oversized desk.

The living room area separated the kitchen from a huge workout area in the corner. There was a treadmill, free weights, a spin bike, and a heavy bag. A pull-up bar hung from the ceiling.

In the other corner, my large four-poster bed sat at a diagonal angle. Long pieces of silk snaked down the posts, ready to shield the bed from the rest of the room. The armoire stood to the left of the bed, and a small changing area was to the right. The changing area was separated from the space by beautiful Japanese screens.

My private bath was off the narrow hallway, just behind the kitchen. It was large and while not exactly luxurious, an old claw foot tub gave it loads of character.

And strewn about the apartment were random boxes of my still-unpacked life. 

Max took me up on the invitation to sit down on one of the overstuffed couches. Then he raised his eyebrows and nodded. "No wonder you live here."

"Did you want a beer? I think have some Raging Bitch in the fridge." I headed into the kitchen.

"Thanks, I'd like that," Max said with a smile. Damn, he had a nice smile.

I opened the fridge, and the cold air felt good on my now flushed face. I dug out his beer and slammed it against the edge of the counter to remove the cap.

"Don't cook much, do you?" he asked.

I turned to see him looking at my immaculate kitchen. Only the burning Veladoras was on the counter. My mouth tugged up at a small smile and I shook my head.

"Look, Nina," he paused, collecting his thoughts. "I really could use your help with this case..."

"I am just going to take a quick shower." I felt pretty wrecked after the past few days. "Then I will have a beer with you. And you can ask me three questions."

"Just three?" He looked a little crushed when I nodded.

I lit a few candles before making my way to the bathroom. There were very few overhead lights in my apartment -- the florescent bulbs made my head ache. But the space was loaded with candles, including a giant candelabra with five tapered candles at the entry to the living room. It cast a warm glow around a good portion of the loft. Moonlight streamed in from the old factory windows, causing the shadows to dance seductively with the bluish light.

Once in the bathroom, I turned the faucets. The sound of water rushing out of the showerhead immediately set me at ease. I stripped down, giving the water a minute to heat up, and then I stepped into the hot spray.

I really was not up for talking to Max about the damned dagger, and I wished the weapon could have been an easy-to-find hunting knife. But the truth was, these daggers were ancient and rare. As I understood, there were only five left, three of which were supposed to be in Europe. The vampires that held those three never made the trip over. My father had the fourth, the one now in my possession. I heard the fifth was entombed somewhere in Egypt.

I didn't have time to tell Dr. O about the dagger, and now Max was expecting me to chat about them. I rubbed shampoo into my hair with gusto, my frustration growing the more I thought about him. I liked him, dammit.  And I had no interest in layering lie on top of lie. But I had no choice.

I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair, bubbles circling the drain. Maybe this borderline obsession with him was due to a long dry spell. I hadn’t been on an actual date in like five years. Of course, I had hooked up a few times, but the last time was maybe a year ago. Frankie and I went to Chicago for a few days to blow off steam. He was hot and in a band.

If I could just get this out of my system, maybe I would be clear to focus on my work once again. It was, after all, a matter of life and death.

I turned off the water and grabbed a towel. I padded out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around me.

"Let me just throw something on!" I called out. Then I swept towards the changing area.

Behind the screens, I stripped off the damp towel. I pulled out an old white tank top and a pair of torn sweat pants from the dresser and yanked them on quickly.

I went back to the kitchen, pulled out another beer, and cracked it open on the counter.

I sunk down onto the couch across from Max and took a long swig of my beer.

"So," I said. "You're a Federal Agent? You don't look like a Fed."

"What's a Fed supposed to look like?" He was mocking me but he was good-natured about it.

"Not a surfer," I smiled.

I liked the way his eyes lit up when he smiled.

"I'm not from around here."

"No kidding," I chuckled. "California or Hawaii?"

"California." His smiled broadened.