Blood Hunt

“Because…” Samantha lowered her voice. “…I’ve overheard her giving them instructions. She tells the guy that the boss is her boyfriend, see, and that he’s very jealous, but then she tells the sucker he’s turned her on so much, she’s just got to see him. He leaves thinking he’s really a superstud. Every night she tells a different guy the same thing.”

“Always a different guy? No one ever repeats?”

Samantha shook her head. “Sometimes they try. She’s polite, but she never goes with them again.” She sighed. “She must do something they really dig. I wonder if I should try the tigress bit, too.”

“Tigress bit?” You’re doing great, honey; don’t stop.

“Yeah. If they come back for another try, the guys she’s gone with always have this huge hickey on their necks. I’ve never — ”

The whole world screamed to a halt for Garreth. He felt electricity lift the hair all over his body.

“Hickey?” he asked breathlessly. “About this size and located here?” He demonstrated with a circle of thumb and finger.

The barmaid nodded.

She’s dirty! But for a moment Garreth could not be sure whether he felt satisfaction or disappointment at proof of her involvement. Perhaps both. Wanted or unwanted, this gave him a legitimate excuse to ask all the questions of her he liked.

He gave Samantha a five-dollar bill. “For you, honey. Thanks.”

He made his way to the table where Lane sat. Nodding to the three men with her, he said, “Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but I need to speak with the lady for a minute.”

Lane smiled. “I said, later, perhaps.”

“It can’t wait.”

One of the men frowned. “The lady said later. Bug off.”

Ignoring him, Garreth leaned down to Lane’s ear. “I can use my badge and make it official.”

She glanced up sharply at him. Her eyes flared red in the candlelight again.

Why did her eyes reflect when most people’s did not?

Lane stood, smiling at the men, cool and gracious. “He’s right; it can’t wait. I won’t be a minute.” As they walked away from the table, though, the tone of her voice became chiding. “So you’re on duty after all. You lied, Inspector.”

“So did you. You said you didn’t see Mossman after he left the club on Tuesday, but we found him with a bruise on his neck just like the ones the girls here tell me you put on all your men.”

She glanced around. “May we talk outside?”

They left the club. Outside, the street stretched away from them in both directions, glittering with the lights of signs and car headlights, smelling of exhaust fumes and the warmth of massed humanity. Like accents and grace notes, whiffs of perfume and male cologne reached them, too. Voices and cars blended into a vibrant roar. My city, Garreth thought.

Lane breathed deeply. “I do so love the vitality of this place.”

Garreth nodded agreement. “Now, about Mossman…”

“Yes, I saw him.” She strolled down the street with him following. “What else could I do? He would have waked all the neighbors, pounding on my door that way. He got the address from the phone book.”

“So you invited him in?”

She nodded. “Then…well, he was a charming man so…we ended up in bed. He left about three, alive, I swear. But he insisted on walking, even though I warned him not to and offered to call a cab.”

Garreth counted two possible flaws in the story. Three o’clock lay on the edge of the limits given by the ME for Mossman’s time of death. He would have had to die very soon after leaving Lane’s apartment. And would a man careful enough to leave his keys and extra money and credit cards hidden in his hotel room ignore the offer of a cab and walk down a street alone in the middle of the night?

They turned the corner. Once around it, the traffic thinned and the noise level dropped dramatically.

Garreth asked, “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

She sighed sheepishly. “The usual reason: I didn’t want to be involved.”

“The autopsy found puncture wounds in the middle of the bruise on Mossman’s neck. How did they get there?”

“Punctures?” She stared down at him. “I don’t have the slightest idea. They weren’t there when he left me.”

Garreth said nothing in response to that. Instead, he waited, curious to see what more she might say. But unlike most people, who felt uncomfortable with silence and would say anything, often incriminating things, to fill the void, she did not rise to the bait. She said nothing as they turned another corner.

Now almost no traffic passed. Garreth found himself preternaturally conscious of the near empty street. Here on the back side of the block, they seemed a hundred miles from the crowds and lights.

He asked, “Did you ever meet a man named Cleveland Adair?”

Her stride never faltered. “Who?”

“Cleveland Adair, an Atlanta businessman. We found him dead two years ago with a bruise and punctures just like Mossman’s. A woman matching your description was seen in the lobby of his hotel shortly before his estimated time of death.”

He expected denial, either vehement or indignant. He was even prepared for her to try running away. Instead, she stopped and turned to look him directly in the eyes. “How many deaths are you investigating?”

Her eyes looked bottomless and glowed like a cat’s. Garreth stared into them, fascinated. “Two. After all, it looks like the same person killed them both.”

“I suppose it does. Inspector,” she said quietly, “please back up into this alley.”

Like hell I will, he thought, but found he could not say it aloud. Nor could he act on the thought. Her eyes held his and his will seemed paralyzed. Step by step, as commanded, he moved backward, until he came up short against a wall.

“You’re here alone.” Her hands came up to his neck, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the collar of his shirt. Her hands felt cool against his skin. “Have you told anyone where you are or about my little love bites?”

Yes, he thought, but he spoke the truth. “No.” Should he have admitted that? He could not find concern in him; all he cared about at the moment was staring into the glowing depths of her eyes and listening to her voice.

“Good boy,” she crooned, and kissed him gently on the mouth. She had to bend down to do it. “That’s a very good boy.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t think you should ever tell.”

He barely heard her. Her voice reached him from a great distance, like all sensation at the moment: the rough brick of the wall at his back, the chill of the evening, the increasing rate of her breathing. Somewhere deep inside, uneasiness stirred, but listening to it seemed too much trouble. He found it easier to just stand passive and let her tip his head back against the wall.

Her lips felt cool on his mouth and cheek, and her fingers on his neck as she probed to one side of his windpipe. His pulse throbbed against the pressure.

“That’s a nice vein,” she whispered in approval. Her breath tickled as she spoke between kisses. “You’ll like this. You’ll feel no pain. You won’t mind a bit that you’re dying.” She kissed him harder and he felt the nip of her teeth. Her mouth moved down over his jaw to his neck. “You’re a bit short for me so this will be awkward unless you stand very still. Whatever happens, don’t move.”

“No.” It emerged in a sigh.

“I love you, Inspector. I love all men of power.” Her teeth nipped harder, moving toward the spot where his pulse beat against her fingers. “You don’t have money or position like the others, but you have knowledge… knowledge I can’t afford to have spread around, so that gives you more power than most of my lovers. Still, I have more. I have the power to take yours. I love doing that. I am become Death.”

She bit harder. A distant sensation told him her teeth had broken his skin, but he felt no pain, only a slight pressure as she sucked.

“What — ” he began.

Her finger brushed across his lips, commanding him to silence. He obeyed. All desire to talk had left anyway.