Lover Revealed

From over on the left, one of the guys started humming the Star Trek theme, for God only knew what reason. Others chimed in. Someone lit off with a William Shatner: 'I don't know… why I have to… talk like this, Spock…'

In the midst of the chaos, the sound of heavy boots coming down the hall drifted into the room. God, it was like there was an army out in the corridor. With a frown, John looked up to see Wrath walking past the door to the classroom. Then Butch and Marissa went by next. Then Vishous.

What were they all so grim about? he wondered.

Blaylock cleared his throat. 'So, John, you want to hang with me and Qhuinn tonight? We were going to chill at my house. Bang some beers. Nothing special.'

John whipped his head around, then tried to camo his surprise. But wow. First time any of them had suggested meeting up after class.

Cool, John wrote as Zsadist finally came in and shut the door.

Downtown at the Caldwell police station, Van Dean smiled at the badge in front of him, making sure his face was showing a whole lot of No Big Deal. 'I'm an old friend of Brian O'Neal's, that's who I am.'

Homicide detective José de la Cruz measured him with smart brown eyes. 'What did you say your name is?'

'Bob. Bobby O'Connor. I grew up in Southie with Brian. He moved away. I did, too. Then I came back east recently and someone told me he was working as a cop in Caldwell so I figured I'd drop by. But when I call the CPD main line? No Brian O'Neal. And all I got was the he-doesn't-work-here runaround.'

'What makes you think showing up in person will change the answer?'

'I was hoping someone could tell me what happened to him. I called his parents in Southie. His father said he hadn't talked to Brian in a long time, but last he knew his son was still working as a cop. Look, man, I've got no ulterior motive here. I just want some answers.'

De la Cruz took a long drink out of his black coffee mug. 'O'Neal was put on administrative leave back in July. He did not return to the force.'

'That's it?'

'Why don't you give me a telephone number? If I remember anything else, I'll call you.'

'Sure thing.' Van recited some random numbers, which De la Cruz wrote down. 'Thanks, and I'd appreciate a call. Hey, you were his partner, right?'

The other man shook his head. 'No. I wasn't.'

'Oh, that's what the guy at Dispatch said.'

De la Cruz picked up a file from his paper-ridden desk and opened it. 'We're done here.'

Van smiled a little. 'Sure thing. Thanks again, detective.'

He was almost out the door when De La Cruz said, 'By the way, I know you're full of shit.'

'Excuse me?'

'If you were a friend of his, you'd have asked for him by the name Butch. Now gitcha ass out of my office and pray that I'm too busy to follow up on you.'

Shit. Busted. 'Names change, detective.'

'Not his. Good-bye, Bobby O'Connor. Or whoever you are.'

Van left the office, knowing he was damn lucky you couldn't get arrested just for asking questions about someone. Because sure as hell, De la Cruz would have cuffed him if the guy could have.

Bullshit, those two hadn't been partners. Van had read about them in an article in the Caldwell Courier Journal. But it was obvious that if De la Cruz knew what had become of Brian… Butch… whatever O'Neal, the detective was a dead end on the info trail for Van. And then some.

Van beelined it out of the police station into a nasty March drizzle and jogged over to the minivan. Thanks to his legwork, he had a pretty clear idea of what had happened to O'Neal in the last nine months. Guy's last known address was a one-bedroom in a who-cares apartment building a couple blocks over. Manager had said that when the mail piled up and rent wasn't paid on time, they'd gone in there. The place had been full of furniture and stuff, but it had been clear no one had been keeping house for a while. What little food there was had rotted, and the cable and phone had been turned off for nonpayment. It was like O'Neal had just walked out one morning all business as usual… and never come back.

Because he'd fallen into the vampire world.

Must be kind of like joining the Lessening Society, Van thought as he fired up the Town & Country. Once you were in, you cut all your ties. And never went back.

Except the guy was still in Caldwell.

And that meant sooner or later, O'Neal was going to get popped, and Van wanted to be the one to do it. It was time for an inaugural kill and that ex-cop would fit the bill as well as anything else with a heartbeat would.

Just like Mr. X had said. Find the guy. Take him out.

As Van came up to a stoplight, he frowned, thinking that drive to murder probably should have bothered him. Except ever since he'd been inducted into the Society, he seemed to have lost some of his… humanity. And more was getting up to go every day. He didn't even miss his brother anymore.

That should have bothered him, too, right? But it didn't.

Because he could feel a dark kind of power growing inside of him, taking up the space left by his soul's departure. Every day he was getting more… powerful.

Chapter Thirty-seven

Butch walked across the bright blue mats of the gym, his destination a steel door on the far side marked equipment room. Along the way, as he followed Wrath and V, he held on to Marissa's cold hand. He wanted to give her some kind of pep talk, but she was too smart for that old it's-gonna-be-okay thing. Bottom line was, no one knew what was going to happen, and trying to falsely reassure her was like training a floodlight on the free fall he was about to take.

At the end of the mats, V unlocked the reinforced door and they filed into a jungle of workout gear and caged weapons, heading back to the physical therapy/first aid suite. V let them in and hit the lights, fluorescent tubes flickering on in a chorus of hums.

The place was right out of an episode of ER, all white tiles and glass-front stainless-steel cabinets filled with vials and medical supplies. In the corner there was a whirlpool tub, a massage table, and a cardiac crash cart, but none of that registered much. Butch was primarily interested in the center of the room, where showtime was going to happen: Sitting like a stage waiting for Shakespeare, there was a gurney with some kind of a high-tech chandelier hanging over it. And underneath… a drain in the floor.

He tried to imagine himself up on that table under those lights. And felt like he was drowning.

As Wrath shut the door, Marissa said in a flat voice, 'We should be doing this at Havers's clinic.'

V shook his head. 'No offense, but I wouldn't take Butch to your brother for a paper cut. And the fewer people who know about this, the better.' He went over to the gurney and checked that the brake was engaged. 'Besides, I'm a damn good medic. Butch, ditch the clothes and let's do this.'

Butch stripped to his boxers, his skin goose-bumping all over. 'Can we do something about the temperature in this meat locker?'

'Yup.' V walked over to the wall. 'We want it warm in here for the first part. Then I'm going to throw the air-conditioning on hard-core and you'll love me for it.'

Butch went to the gurney and popped his body up on the thing. As a hiss and a rush of toasty air came from overhead, he held his arms out for Marissa. After closing her eyes briefly, she came to him, and he took refuge in her body heat, hugging her hard. Her tears were slow and silent, and when he tried to talk to her, she just shook her head.

'Would you choose to be mated this day?'

Everyone in the room jerked around.