I hadn’t had this nightmare in years. Hadn’t experienced the horrible dream that had plagued me as a child. But it was back. He was back.
And he wore the face I’d seen when I touched the brand.
Less than twelve hours later, I stepped into the elevator of Claude’s opulent condo building, after the suspicious-yet-polite doorman received permission from Claude to let me up. The vampire might not live traditionally, but he did live in style. The building was set on Chicago’s Gold Coast, the nickname locals gave the area of the city adjacent to Lake Michigan. The views were certainly worth the title, but the prices clinched it. A person practically needed a pile of gold to buy one.
The elevator ticked up the floors, and my temper ticked up with it. I half wished I’d brought my personal sidearm with me, but I wasn’t too keen on explaining away why I’d brought a gun with me when I wasn’t on a case. Or even on the job. Damn the vampire anyway. I wasn’t supposed to be in Chicago. And I wasn’t supposed to be running down a case that didn’t even exist.
Anger was good. It grounded me when everything else felt surreal. But I tugged on my hair and tried to calm down. Fiery redhead was just too cliché. Had to keep a lid on the rage, although anger was far preferable to longing for something I couldn’t have. After all, it was obvious that Claude struggled with no such emotion.
In my hand, I clutched the folded paper. The portrait of a psychotic killer. But I didn’t need it.
I saw him every time I closed my eyes.
It was a face I’d seen for the first time as a ten-year-old girl in visions that had become nightmares. Ones just like the nightmare that had propelled me out of bed in the late morning straight onto a flight bound for Chicago.
A ping sounded as the elevator doors announced that I’d reached the penthouse. A short hallway revealed only a single door. How much had the vampire had to pay to avoid neighbors? Whatever. If I’d had centuries to accumulate wealth, I could live in a high-rise, too.
I’d not allow myself to be intimidated by a shiny apartment.
Dressed far less impressively than he had been earlier in the day, Claude answered the door. He was wearing an AC/DC T-shirt and jeans so worn they looked older than me. But this time, his expression wasn’t open or friendly. Anger twisted his mouth, and his eyes looked weary. He gestured for me to enter, but I paused in his doorway, unsure for a moment what bothered me about him. I’d expected the anger. But I hadn’t expected him to look so drained.
Vampires, as a general rule, just didn’t look tired.
“You called the station to check up on me,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“Of course I did. You showed up with an unmarked evidence bag and no paperwork, and you expected me not to check? What kind of an investigator do you take me for?” I ached to mention the man from the vision—the vampire. Claude knew who he was, that much was obvious. But there was direct, and then there was rude. And rude wouldn’t get me the answers I so desperately needed.
And I wasn’t so sure I should show my hand just yet.
Some of the anger drained from his expression, but the weariness remained. “You’re right. I should have expected that.” A hint of a smile touched his mouth. “Guess I’m a little off my game. Are you thirsty?”
I followed him to the living room and then sat on a plush leather couch while he went to get me a soda. Decorated in an understated style, the condo was lovely, if a bit plain. A few antique furnishings and paintings that offered to sweep me away to another place brightened the room and made up for the lack of other personalized touches.
And any plainness was made up for by the view. The lake stretched so far that a person might mistake it for an ocean. Dark blue and calming.
Claude swept back in, and I snagged a coaster from a small stack on one of the end tables to set under my glass. The coffee table wood was old and pitted, but in a purposeful style.
“So are you going to tell me what this is about?”
He raised an eyebrow at that, and the grin on his face never faltered. “What? No accusations of misconduct? No suggestions that I’m taking money on the side to investigate cases? What kind of interrogation is this?”
I shrugged. “You’re a good cop, by all accounts. And I don’t see you taking money on the side. Look at this place. Hell, you probably forget to cash your paychecks.”
He laughed at that, and my mouth went dry. The man was more than attractive, with his intense eyes that belied his casual look. But laughing…damn.
So not fair to the women of the world.
The amusement drained from his expression when I only offered a small grin in return. At least, I hoped it looked like a grin and not a grimace. The man’s laugh was infectious, but not infectious enough to overcome the tight chest and headache I’d been overrun with since waking up from that nightmare.
“And I feel like I know you, a little bit. I mean, we have worked together in the past,” I added. I opened my mouth to tell him that he’d made an impression on me, and that I still thought of our time together, now and then. But I couldn’t say that. It would betray too much, and make me sound like the naive girl I once was.
“But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to ask you for an explanation,” I said, instead.
“You need to leave this alone.”
I shook my head. “Not going to happen.” For more reasons than he realized.
Our eyes met and all the air left the room for a moment. Just being here, around him, felt unreal. My fingers itched to reach out and touch his skin, to confirm that he was really there, sitting so close to me, after all these years. Seconds ticked by, marked by a grandfather clock that stood in one corner of the room.
My throat tightened. I knew more about him from his reputation than I did from the time we’d spent together alone. Watching Claude now, his expression enigmatic and his motivations hidden behind his amused expression, it hit me that I’d never really known him at all.
“You need to let this go. It’s a personal investigation, and it’s unnecessary for the OWEA to be involved.”
“You’re the one who dragged me into this. Look…” How much to confide? I opened my hand, where I still clutched the picture I’d drawn. Carefully, I unfolded it. The face appeared, marred now by the folds and smudged because I’d drawn it up in pencil.
But my body’s reaction was immediate and fierce. My vision closed up, and all I could see was that face. Snarling, fangs flashing. Dark eyes narrowing. I didn’t realize how hard I was clutching the paper with the tips of my fingers until Claude tugged it from my grasp.
He didn’t look at the picture. I guessed he didn’t have to. Instead, he sat next to me, close enough that I could feel the slight coolness of his body. Vampires weren’t as cool as salamanders, but they ran a couple of degrees colder than humans.
His closeness was somehow comforting, which was silly; I barely knew the man, no matter what I liked to think in the dead of night when I was alone. But my body disagreed, and I fought the urge to lean against him and, just for a moment, take comfort. Breathe in his scent. Feel his hands on my skin, while his body moved against mine. Let the real world slip away.
Like I had once before.
“Tell me,” he murmured.
The full truth almost fell from my dry mouth before I could stop it. But I caught myself. “I’d like to help you, for old time’s sake.”
If it was possible, he grew even more still. “You can trust me, Beatrice.” His voice was low, caressing, and far too close to my ear. Trusting him when he still hadn’t confided anything in me—had in fact just lied to my face only hours before—would be stupid. No matter how much I wanted to.
It had been so long since I’d been able to trust someone like that.
I pushed up from the couch, unsettled. “I don’t think so. I’ve already shown trust by not reporting your little side case. I’m offering you my skills as an investigator and a psychometrist—temporarily anyway. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
He considered me for a moment, expression sharp and thoughtful. “You’re right. I guess if you can have that much faith in me…” He got up from the couch and paced back and forth across the room. “I’m after a killer, a man who has done horrible things. But he hides in the shadows. Using his name and connections and money to cover his trail.”
“And you’re not running this through your department because. . . ?”
“Just over a month ago, my partner was involved in a case with an OWEA agent while I was out of town on vampire business. The case involved a vamp homicide. Vic was killed on Luc Chevalier’s—the Magister’s—casino ship.”
I’d heard about the case—a murder so closely connected to a Magister that it had made the national news. The details had been dramatic, with a lycan OWEA agent injured, and two of Chicago’s finest losing their lives. Another Chicago detective had been at the heart of the case, too. A young woman whose face had made headlines alongside the agent for cracking the case.
“Holmes,” I muttered.
“Yes. Astrid Holmes. My partner.” Affection was obvious in his tone. He resumed pacing. “The case was all but tied to the Magister’s son, Nicolas. But, once again, he wriggled free. All witnesses dead, and we were left with only circumstantial evidence to connect him. And that was flimsy.”
Officially, vampires were guided by Magisters, who coordinated leadership and law enforcement with the official lawmakers. Unofficially, the vampires were rumored to have a much more complex system in place, and used the human system only when it suited them. The Magister’s son would no doubt have an important role in the local hierarchy.
“And this explains you not running the brand through normal channels…how?”
“There was a leak in our department—probably more than one. One of the killers was a detective in our unit.”
Recalling the details, I cursed under my breath. “Right. Helping his psycho girlfriend or whatever.”