The City Beneath (19 page)

“That was much, much too close,” Walker said, turning his back on the window to face me. He clamped his hand over his injured shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” I muttered. I was more angry at Walker than Dominic, which felt like a kind of betrayal and, like most everything lately, that made me angry.

Walker scoffed. He strode to the bed, adjusted the IV, and scanned my body for further injuries, but having been tended by Dominic, my physical condition had only improved.

“How were you able to connect with his mind?” Walker asked softly.

“Something about being a night blood that I know and you don't?” I raised my eyebrows. “I'm sure you've tried turning their mind tricks on them before.”

“I have,” Walker said, sounding annoyed. “And it's impossible.”

I frowned. “You've never connected with a vampire's mind? Even after they drank your blood?”

“No. As far as I know, no one has.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Not that you've spoken to many night bloods to know.”

Walker looked away. “How deep did he let the stake pierce you?”

“Not deep.”

Walker moved to unbutton the top button of my blouse.

I crossed my arms in front of myself to block him. “I'm
fine
.”

“Stop being stubborn, and let me see how badly you're injured.”

“No, Walker.” I took a deep, fortifying breath. “I think you should leave.”

“Don't push me away, Cassidy. I know you're a capable woman, but even I can't fight them and survive on my own. We need to stick together against them.” He reached for my hand. “Let me help you.”

I folded my hands deep under my arms and out of his reach. “I know I'm a stubborn person, but it's more than that. I
did
want your help, before you—” In my mind, Jolene's lips trembled in fear and angst and terrible hope that we could help her. I shuddered. “I just need you to leave.”

“You wanted my help before I what?” he asked, looking utterly confused.

I couldn't meet his gaze. “Before you killed Jolene.”

“Who did I kill?” Walker asked, looking shocked.

“The woman you killed in the alley, the one Kaden took hostage to trade for me. I knew her, Walker. Her name was Jolene McCall. She's Greta's cousin.” My voice broke. “She bakes cupcakes.”

Walker blinked, a sudden, hard calm clouding his expression. “I had no choice. I did what was necessary.”

“What you did was completely
unnecessary
. We could have found a way to save her and still save ourselves. I told you to trade me for her. You could have used me as a distraction until she was safe. You had
choices
, Walker, and you
chose to kill her!
” I hissed, working myself into a rage as I spoke. “Just like you chose to set a trap for Dominic instead of bringing me to safety.”

“We were wasting time. Kaden made his move, and I made mine. That's all there is to it.”

“Wasting
time?
Who cares how
long
it took? She would have been alive!”

“We needed to get back to your apartment to prepare for Dominic before he caught us vulnerable on the street. We had an advantage here, and maybe, just maybe, we could have taken him out. Had we waited, we would have lost our advantage,” Walker explained slowly, as if to the dim-witted. “I was protecting us.”

“You didn't shoot Jolene to protect us from Kaden. You shot her because saving her would've taken time, time that you wanted to better use to kill Dominic,” I said, beyond furious. “And it didn't even pay off. Jolene is still dead, and Dominic is still alive.”

Walker crossed his arms. “Arguably, he's already dead.”

“Seriously? You're going to argue semantics? Dead or not, he's more alive than Jolene,” I snapped.

“Like I said, I did what was necessary,” Walker said coldly. “The vampires are rampaging, unremorseful murderers, feeding from and killing humans indiscriminately, and we've got to do anything and everything to stop them. We're the only people who know they exist, Cassidy, so it's our duty to see them killed.”

“But at what cost, Walker? Is killing a human justified in the name of killing a vampire?” I asked. “I don't see any difference between you killing Jolene or Kaden killing her, and I doubt she does, either. It doesn't matter who does the killing because either way she's dead.”

“Killing one vampire protects all of the humans he might have killed, even if it takes one human death to accomplish it. Casualties are a part of war. It's something I've learned to live with.”

“Well, I haven't.” I inhaled a deep, trembling breath and turned my face to meet Walker's gaze squarely. “Did you let the vampires attack me last night so you could track us back to Dominic's coven? Did you use me as bait to finally locate where the vampires sleep beneath the city?”

“If you remember correctly, I warned you not to walk home.”

“Yes, you did. You seemed to know exactly what might happen,” I said softly, regretfully.

Walker stared deep into my eyes, and the sharpness of his pain made my heart bleed for him. I knew that pain intimately. He'd obviously lost someone, but I'd lost people, too. I refused to retreat from this argument because the one thing I learned from their loss was that life was fleeting, and the only people worth getting to know were people I could trust.

“I'm sorry you were attacked, Cassidy. I'll admit that I'm ecstatic we found the coven, but discovering its location was just a bonus. My priority was finding you.”

“Of course it was, because if you found me, you found the coven. You used me as bait,” I insisted.

He leaned closer, and I could see the muscles in his jaw flex as he clenched his teeth. “I never would have left you there.”

I shook my head. “Dominic was right. The two of you are just alike.”

“Excuse me?” Walker asked, suddenly, dangerously calm.

I swallowed. “You watched and waited as the vampires attacked me, so you could track me back to their coven. You let me nearly bleed to death instead of taking me to the hospital, so you could set up your vampire-trap—which failed, by the way. And your first concern after regaining power over your body was that Dominic had fled. My safety comes in second against the priority of killing Dominic. Admit it, Walker, killing vampires is more important to you than saving lives.”

Walker rolled his eyes. “I kill vampires for the express purpose of saving lives.”

“No, I don't think so,” I whispered. “Given the choice between the two, you'd choose killing the vampire.”

He placed a hand gently on my forearm since he couldn't gain access to my hands, and he rubbed his thumb slowly over my skin. “You're letting that vampire drive a wedge between us. He's manipulating us into fighting to gain the advantage.”

I laughed. “He doesn't need to manipulate anything. Dominic
is
the advantage. You and I worked together tonight, and he wiped the floor with us. I doubt he's concerned that our alliance poses a threat.”

“We
can
stand against them, Cassidy, but we only stand a chance if we stand together,” Walker insisted. The radical in him seeped into his voice, so his tone sounded crazed with determination.

I sighed, feeling exhausted by the argument. “Listen, Walker, I'm tired and weary, and I have a lot of cleaning to do before I can go to bed. I really would like you to just leave. Please.”

Walker looked around the apartment, his gaze traveling over the busted window frame, the splintered wood strewn over the floor, the pocked holes in the walls, and the buckshot and blood everywhere.

“If you think you're leavin' that bed for one minute, you're severely mistaken, darlin'.” Walker said dryly. “It's my mess. I'll clean it up.”

I rolled my eyes. “Walker, please, I just want—”

“Where do you keep the bleach?”

“I'm perfectly capable of cleaning my own apartment,” I stated firmly. “And you're injured, too. You need to take care of that shoulder.”

He stared back at me, just as resolute. “Where do you keep the bleach?”

“God, we're ridiculous,” I groaned. I covered my eyes with my hands, resigned to accepting his help. “Under the kitchen sink, like everyone else in the free world.”

“Was that so difficult?” he asked, already walking toward the kitchen.

“Well, it certainly wasn't easy,” I grumbled, working up the nerve to detach the IV and get out of bed.

“Hey! Leave that alone,” Walker chastised a moment later, walking back from the kitchen, bleach in hand. “Lie in bed, leave your IV as it is, and just rest, for Christ's sake. Is that so impossible?”

“Yes,” I said, but I listened for once, my stomach roiling from tugging on the IV. I sank into the mattress, intending to simply rest like he'd directed, but my body had other plans. The moment my head hit the pillow, I could feel myself drift.

The shuffle and clatter of Walker adjusting my pots and pans roused me slightly. “Where's your mop and bucket?” he asked.

“Tall kitchen cabinet, left of the oven,” I murmured, not bothering to open my eyes.

“That's where I'm looking. I'm not seeing any—oh,” he said, cutting off his own sentence.

“Mmm? Is something wrong?” I asked. I forced my eyes open, but the only person in the room was Walker, and he was standing right in front of me.

“Nope, not a thing. I found it, thank you,” he said.

I glanced at the cabinet ajar behind him and frowned. “You're in the wrong cabinet. I'll show you where—”

“I've got it, DiRocco,” Walker insisted, catching my shoulder as I struggled to sit up. He pressed me back down into the mattress. “I'm a smart guy. I'll figure it out.
Rest.
” He reached out to touch my face, hesitated, and let his hand fall back to his side uncertainly.

I wondered what it would feel like to trust someone implicitly, for him to not only clean my apartment but join me in bed without hesitation and hold me afterward, to have his arms wrapped securely around me when I woke up for work in the morning. I almost asked him to stay, remembering the loss I'd felt when he left my apartment last night, but even as I opened my mouth, Jolene's fear-filled, hopeful expression haunted me and choked the words.

Before I could decide, Walker turned around and walked back to the cabinets. He didn't offer to stay this time, and I was too proud to ask. Feeling discontented, I closed my eyes and slipped into sleep with the sounds of running water, scrubbing, and softly muffled oaths as my lullaby.

M
y alarm buzzed through the morning silence. I woke, disoriented for a moment because although I was sleeping on my bed with my usual quilt over me, the mattress under me was bare; the sheets were stacked on the bench of my bay window. They looked crisp and fresh and stain-free, and with that thought, the memories from last night came rushing back. I burrowed beneath the quilt with a groan, trying to find at least some reprieve from reality, but the pull and snag of the IV in the bend of my elbow sank the memories vividly and inescapably home.

The quilt was warm and smelled lightly of mint. I used their soft comfort to keep the images from last night at bay. I took a deep breath and imagined Walker tucking me in after rummaging through my cabinets for bleach and Pine-Sol. I couldn't imagine Walker mopping, but the clean shine of my hardwood floors spoke on behalf of his domestic skills.

I squinted at my apartment floor, window, and walls from under my burrowed nest in the quilt, and everything, from the crisp sheets piled on the bay window to the holes in my now Swiss cheese–like walls were clean if not whole. Walker had been very thorough, which I appreciated, although my landlord would undoubtedly reconsider renewing my lease.

I allowed myself a minute of selfish comfort before emerging from the bed. If I didn't remove myself from under the quilt now, I'd never get up. I'd already been late to work and called out once this week; Carter would have a coronary if I was late again. That thought alone gave me pause, so I concentrated on dreams of Pulitzers, carefully removed the IV without gagging, and walked shakily to the bathroom before I gave in to the compulsion to sleep in.

I cringed at my reflection in the mirror. I looked like death warmed over. Some form of masking was definitely needed before subjecting my coworkers to my appearance, but it would take more than makeup to look like myself again.

An hour later, I was washed, made up, and ready to report. I'd woken on time today, so my voice mail was blessedly empty. Nathan, however, had never returned my calls. I tried him again. His cell phone rang five times before voice mail kicked in, and I left another message, feeling dread like a knot twist through my gut.

“Yo, bro, what do you know? Nothing about me, obviously, because you never called me back. We need to talk, pronto.” I massaged the frown between my brows. “Seriously, I need to see you. Call me back when you get this.”

I hung up and checked a sunrise/sunset calendar online before leaving for work. The sun dipped below the horizon at 7:56 p.m. EST. I didn't know how to prepare, if any preparations could truly give me an advantage over Dominic or Kaden, but I had twelve hours, forty-two minutes, and thirty-seven seconds to plan a defense. In the meantime, I had stories to write, witnesses to squeeze, and lies to expose throughout the city that would hopefully—I crossed my fingers—not involve vampires.

I burst through the
Sun Accord
doors in my usual stride. Sometimes I could fool people into thinking I was taller and more substantial by my sheer presence, but when Carter strode out of his office with equal gusto and loomed nearly a foot and a half over me, this morning wasn't one of those times.

“DiRocco, you've got some ner—” Carter stopped dead in his tracks in front of me on his way to the watercooler. “You look like roadkill. Raccoon roadkill.”

“Turning up the charm early this morning, Carter,” I said snidely, although he was right. I might have been heavy-handed with the eyeliner.

I ducked around him to beeline it to my desk. I could hear his steps behind me.

“Your neighborhood's been hit rough this week, you missed the budget meeting yesterday, and frankly, you look like hell. You need a vacation.”

“I'm not sure that this is the time—”

Carter followed me to my desk. “Sit. We need to talk.”

Eleven hours and twenty-seven minutes until sunset
, I thought, glancing at my computer as it booted. I didn't have time for a lecture from Carter. I felt like life was a ticking time bomb set on the earth's rotation. I grudgingly sat.

Carter straddled the chair across from me, turning it so that he could lean both his forearms over the backrest. The movements were too familiar. It didn't matter that he was straddling the chair instead of crossing his legs nor that he was human and not vampire; he was still a very intimidating man forcing me to sit at my own desk while he cornered me for questioning. My heart tripped a beat and then raced to catch up.

Carter is not Dominic,
I thought, trying not to panic, but Carter had never talked to me at my desk before. Honestly, in the five years and six months I'd slaved for him and the
Sun Accord
, I couldn't remember a single time when he'd spoken to me about anything except work.

I cleared my throat. “I'm not sure a talk is necessary. Don't you have someone else in this office to fry?”

Carter grunted. “Normally, I'd agree with you, but normally, you don't give me this many issues.”

I blinked. “I'm giving you issues?”

“Unlike everyone else working at this circus, you and Meredith have your shit together. You're a team. Your writing is engaging and accurate, her photos are enthralling, and you both make it to print on time, every time. You might make it last-minute—which I suspect is part of your master plan to kill me—but you make it, and your stories sell,” Carter said, and if I wasn't mistaken, and I must be for this to come from Carter, he sounded proud.

I stared, a little taken aback by his complimentary honesty. “Oh. Thanks.”

“But I don't care how many newspapers your stories sell, you're not above attending my budget meetings. I don't care what troubles you're having. You leave them at home where they belong, and you come here ready to impress me with prizewinning pieces.”

“Right,” I said flatly.

“That being said, I received a call from Detective Wahl last night.”

“Oh?” I raised my eyebrows nonchalantly even as my heart knotted and quivered. “What did she have to say?”

“She wanted to know when we were going to print the retraction to the retraction about the Paerdegat Park case,” Carter said, staring hard at me.

“We don't do retractions to our retractions,” I said cautiously. “She knows that.”

“Yes, I handled Detective Wahl,” Carter dismissed.

Only by the herculean effort of my iron will did I resist rolling my eyes. No one “handled” Greta.

“What I want to know is, how you out of everyone, including the police who investigated the murder, Meredith who took the shots, and the paramedics who treated the victims, were the only person who saw the bite marks?”

Those damn bite marks were going to haunt me for the rest of my career. I took a moment to breathe before answering and decided to act on a time-tested motto: when in doubt, ask more questions. “Did you look at Tuesday's print again? Did you see the photo we used, the one that Meredith took and you approved?”

“I would remember if I approved that photo,” Carter snapped.

“Then I must be exceptionally observant,” I said simply, trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice. It wasn't Carter's fault that he'd been entranced by Dominic, but life was always a little sweeter when I could blame Carter.

He stared me down hard. “I'm not doubting your powers of observation.”

I raised my eyebrows, knowing that Carter hated my flippancy even more than he hated my temper. “Than what
are
you doubting?”

He pointed a finger at my chest. “Something strange happened at Paerdegat Park because somehow, God only knows how, everyone missed crucial evidence except for you.”

I shrugged. “Detective Wahl knows the bodies have bite marks.”

“She does
now
, but two days ago she demanded a retraction. Now it turns out that you had it right all along.”

“Just doing my job, shining light on Brooklyn's—”

“—on Brooklyn's darkest secrets. Like I haven't heard that one before.”

I pursed my lips.

Carter leaned in closer. “Have you looked further into this case since then?”

I bit my lip, wondering for the second time in as many days if a lie or the truth would damn me, and everyone who knew me, more. Of course I'd researched into Paerdegat Park, especially after my article received a retraction. What reporter in their right mind wouldn't defend their article? But how could I ever confess what I'd found?

Vampires
, I thought glumly. No one would believe me, and if they did, Dominic would mind-rape the belief out of them. Not even Carter deserved to be on Dominic or Kaden's radar. The only real truth in this mess was that I couldn't win, not during the day against Carter and Greta and Meredith, and certainly not at night against Dominic and Kaden.

“Well? Have you?” he demanded, leaning forward on the chair's back.

“No.”

Carter glared at me. “Yes, you did. You insisted on the autopsy.”

Crap.
“I, er—”

“Besides that, there's no way on God's green fucking earth that you
didn't
look into the one case that you were forced to print a false retraction on. And my gut tells me that you found something you're either not willing to print or scared to print.”

“You're crazy,” I whispered, but my voice trembled slightly.

“Are you being threatened by one of these gangs?”

“What?” I asked, shocked.

“Greta mentioned that you dodged her last night after she offered you a ride home, the same night of the last batch of murders, which occurred down the block from your apartment, and then you come to work looking like roadkill. You're not the only one who can fit the puzzle pieces together, DiRocco.”

I shook my head. “That's not what—”

“Are you being threatened or blackmailed? Is that why you won't print what you found?” Carter leaned closer. “I can get you protection. Tell me what you need, and let's expose the bastards.”

I blinked slowly, unexpectedly touched that Carter would help, albeit for his journalistic benefit. But no amount of police protection would prevent Dominic and Kaden and their entire coven of vampires from coming for me.

I shook my head, resolute in my decision. “I didn't find anything. My leads ran dry.” I shrugged. “I've got nothing, Carter.”

Carter stared into my eyes, waiting for me to break.

I knew the trick well, having implemented it myself during many an interview. I stared back with a glare of my own, undaunted.

Eventually, Carter stood. “This isn't over. Greta's not going to let this go, and frankly, neither am I.”

“You're the boss,” I quipped.

Carter rolled his eyes. “Get out of here and go cover the murder on your street. Greta will undoubtedly be gunning for you, so you'd better think of a better excuse for knowing what you know than the crap you just gave me. I want you with Meredith in fifteen.”

“Your budget meeting's in ten,” I reminded him.

“You'd let my budget meeting get in the way of your scoop? You're not the reporter I thought you were, DiRocco.”

“But you just said—”

“Get Meredith and get your ass out there. You want the
Times
getting our story?”

Carter left, and I rolled my eyes as high and long as I could with repressed frustration.

The chair in front of my desk creaked.

I snapped my eyes down, mortified for a moment at being caught mid-eye roll before I realized that the person sitting in front of my desk was only Meredith.

“Jesus.” I sighed. I let my head fall forward to rest on my crossed forearms on the desk. “You just gave me a stroke.”

“Good, then at least one of us can take some medical leave. We're due.”

I half-laughed, half-moaned, and lifted my head to meet Meredith's gaze. “You hear about the murder we're investigating in fifteen?”

“Yes, but I—” Meredith stopped short, frowning. “You look like absolute shit.”

“Yeah, I look how I feel.”

Meredith shook her head. “Is this about the Paerdegat Park case, because Greta said that—”

“If I have to talk about the Paerdegat Park case one more time,
I
will murder someone,” I growled.

“Fine.” Meredith sighed. “Then what do you want to talk about?”

“Nothing. I don't want to talk about one blessed thing. Let's just get the scoop on this murder and get it over with.”

When we reached the crime scene, I realized that I should have better prepared myself. I'd known that this murder, like all the rest, would be a faked gang war to cover the vampire attack, but I hadn't thought about how that would affect Jolene. When I saw her sprawled out on the pavement, the subject of our usual camera flashes and impartial attention, I felt sick; not necessarily nauseous, although that was there, too, but deeply sick to my core.

The side of her neck that had been pierced by Kaden's fangs was now clean and unblemished. Her body was healed, too, so that most of her skin was smooth and beautiful and perfect, not the raw, pellet-embedded, ground meat she'd been last night. Dominic had only allowed one shot to the head and three to her chest to remain.

No one would ever believe me if I told them that vampires caused this murder, despite it being true, because gangs were more believable than vampires. I'd never published anything but the truth as I'd seen it, but it wouldn't matter if I wrote about the power struggle between Dominic and Kaden. It wouldn't matter if I detailed how our city was at the mercy of an entire civilization beneath our own who hunted and fed from us and whose natural instinct to slaughter was only leashed by one vampire, a vampire whose tenacious grip was slipping.