had to walk away without even taking the time to put on the second set of cuffs. Feeling her struggle brought out the urge to pin her down. Taste her. Take her.
The memory turned the tingling in his skin to an outright itch.
Maybe he was allergic. After all, she was as different from him as another creature could be: a vampire, a rogue alienated from her sire, and on the run from a crime. The very thing orderly, family-driven pack structure despised.
Moreover, Lore was the serious, down-to-business leader, the one voted least likely to cut loose and have fun. Now, here he had gone and handcuffed a babe to his bedpost. Whatever seed of chaos had infected the vamp-on-the-run was apparently contagious, and now it was crawling through his system.
Bad dog. Who talked to a hellhound like that? In a very, very unwise corner of his soul, he found it hilarious. He started up the stairs again, more slowly this time. His footfalls echoed like a giant’s.
He should turn her over to the law. She wasn’t hellhound business. And how was he going to decide whether or not she had killed her cousin? He was an enforcer, not a detective. He had other priorities, such as Helver and whatever other whelps were digging their way into trouble. Furthermore, there was that something haunting the night and burning down buildings.
Something he thought might be the result of necromancy. That kind of sorcery required a death, and usually a violent one.
Maybe the murdered girl was part of it all. Maybe his pretty prisoner was guilty as sin.
Lore reached the fifteenth floor and cautiously pushed open the stairway door. He’d heard the sirens earlier and, for the second time that night, he found himself on the fringes of a crime scene. The hair on the back of his neck ruffled, his territorial instincts roused by so many strange males in his building.
Uniformed police officers stood outside suite fifteen-twenty-four. A knot of official-looking men crowded the doorway, backlit by the flash of a camera taking multiple shots inside the condo. Someone was asking for security tapes of the front door. Lore knew the man was out of luck. The building was old, and with few thefts there had been no need to add cameras—until now.
“Stop right there,” said one of the uniforms, holding up a hand. He was young and beefy, his features unfinished-looking.
Lore stopped, giving the cop the blank face hounds used with outsiders—except, for some reason, his vampire. She was like a sudden brain fever, making him behave in unusual ways. Perhaps keeping her in his bedroom was a really bad idea. He could almost hear Perry saying, “Ya think?”
“Crime scene,” said the uniform. “Move on, please.”
“What happened?” Lore asked, wondering how much the cops would be willing to say.
“Never mind. Move along.”
“Wait.” One of the other cops turned around. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Lore recognized Baines.
“Detective,” Lore said, erasing all emotion from his voice.
Baines hooked a thumb in his belt, narrowing his eyes as he walked toward Lore. His face was set, like someone had chipped it out of petrified wood. “Okay. I’ll bite. Why am I seeing you at two different crime scenes in one night?”
“I live in the building.”
Baines missed a beat when he heard that. A split second of surprise. “A hellhound? Here? This condominium is about as white-bread human as it gets.”
“I lease from a friend.” Who was a demon, but that was another story.
“Interesting.”
“I pay my utilities. I keep my TV volume at a reasonable level. I help the little old ladies put up their Christmas lights. There’ve been no complaints.” Lore let the slightest edge of annoyance creep into his words.
Baines recovered his cop face. “Uh-huh. Don’t play the poor-little-monster card with me. If a guy wants to spend part of his time running around on four legs, why the hell should the cops care? If that guy is dragging a dismembered leg in his jaws, then I’ll get excited.”
Lore felt his eyebrows lifting in surprise. This was an attitude he hadn’t encountered before. He liked it.
The detective remained expressionless. “What brings you to this floor?”
“I heard the sirens. I was curious to see what was going on.”
Baines flipped open his notebook and turned to a fresh page. “There were two women living here. Do you know either of them?”
“I know one was named Michelle.” So far he was telling the truth. That didn’t mean he had to say everything.
“Michelle Faulkner was murdered tonight. There was someone else living here, a Talia Rostova. A near lookalike to Faulkner, to go by the driver’s license. Who is she, besides a vampire?”
Talia Rostova. So that was her name. It swirled in his mind like an exotic cocktail. “A cousin, I think. I don’t know for sure.”
“They have any visitors?”
“None that I saw, but I live on six.”
“Any idea where this Talia is now?”
Lore hesitated, trying to think his way around the direct question. Baines gave him a suspicious look.
“Hey, Baines,” one of the other officers called. “There’s a drawing on the wall. Looks like gang shit.”
“Take pictures,” said Baines to the other cop. “See what the boys back at the office can make of it. Not that they know squat about supernatural crimes.” He turned to Lore. “Anything going on with the Spookytown gangs?”
“The Dark Hand tried to infiltrate Fairview. They didn’t succeed.” Under Caravelli’s direction, the hounds had made short work of those vampires.
Baines grunted. “I remember that.”
Lore saw his chance to get into the condo again before every trace of scent was trampled away. He hadn’t had much of a chance to check it out before Talia had burst from the kitchen. “I may recognize your drawing. I know the neighborhood and its people.”
“This is a crime scene. You’re not a cop.”
Lore could feel the man’s suspicion like a physical touch. He shrugged, keeping his face neutral. “You’re in charge here, but I might see something you won’t.”
And I’ve got the suspect you really want chained to my bed.
Interestingly enough, though, Baines was considering a range of suspects and not just the vampire roommate. It improved Lore’s opinion of the man.
The detective studied him for a moment. Beneath the wariness, Lore sensed a lot of curiosity. “Like what?”
“If you’re dealing with graffiti, I can help. Vampires are big on signs and symbols. Do you know which vampires belong to which clan, and which monarchs claim ownership of them?”
Baines shrugged. “I know Queen Omara demands the loyalty of any vampire living here.”
“There are things she doesn’t know.”
“And you do?”
Again, an image of Talia flashed through his mind. “I have my nose to the ground.”
“You a snitch?”
“I keep order.”
“I thought that was Alessandro Caravelli’s job. He’s the peacekeeper in Spookytown.”
“He hires my pack from time to time. Right now, I’m his vacation relief.” Lore gave a slight smile at the phrase. It was just so wonderfully, mundanely human.
After a long moment, Baines gave a small nod. “Okay. Maybe you should take a look at what we’ve got in there.” He glanced toward the open door to the condo. “Put some of those booties over your shoes.”
Lore obeyed, barely fitting the protective covers over his long feet. Playing along with the humans’ rules irked him, but at this point he’d take answers wherever he could get them. He’d hoped for more information from the hounds who questioned the crowd at the fire, but they’d come up empty. Helver had given the most detailed
