Darlings of Paranormal Romance (Anthology) (77 page)

The growl deepened, but stayed low
key – a warning without heat.

Sam could respect that, too. She sat
cross-legged at the edge of his space and continued to talk to him
until he calmed down.

"Hey, Sam. I didn't hear you come
in." Lucy, the gregarious vet assistant's voice boomed throughout
the furthest corners of the room, giving Sam no opportunity to
ignore it. She hunched her shoulders at the intrusion, keeping her
eyes locked on the dog.

"I came in the back," she called out
in a low voice.

The dog stared at her.

Sam shifted slightly and narrowed her
gaze. The shepherd's gaze followed every movement. She grimaced.
Strange, but she could almost sense his interest.

"There you are. What are you doing
sitting on the bare floor like that? You're going to catch a cold."
Lucy's voice sounded behind Sam's shoulder.

Sam jerked then twisted around to
greet the large older woman, and for a startling moment saw another
Lucy instead – Sam's murdered best friend Lucy, from a decade ago.
The long familiar brown hair appeared braided off to one side, with
her sweet smile spread across her face. The image was old and faded
and yet still heart wrenchingly clear.

Pangs of guilt wiggled in Sam's
belly. The dog's low growl tore through the image. Sam shook
herself, concentrating on the office manager and not her old
friend. "Hi, Lucy."

The older woman fisted her hands on
ample hips. "Come on out front and have a warm cup of
tea."

Sam glanced at the dog. His black
gaze locked on the two women.

Lucy reached down a beefy hand to
help Sam get to her feet. Sam winced. This morning's vision had
left her stiff and sore. Her police disaster had left her
aching.

With slow careful movements, Sam
brushed off her clothes and hung the chart back on the dog's
crate.

"Jesus girl, you're freezing. Lord,
this child can't even take care of herself, let alone no
animals."

Sam shook her head at Lucy's habit of
directing comments to the almighty above. Still, she had a point.
Cold, Sam's constant companion, had settled deeper in her bones.
She found herself propelled to the front offices and the small cozy
lunchroom. There, a hearty nudge pushed her to the closest chair.
Within minutes, a hot cup of strong tea with a gentle serving of
cream arrived before her.

Lucy, with a second cup of tea, took
the chair opposite Sam.

Unable – and unwilling – to stop
them, Sam confronted memories of the other Lucy. That Lucy had
loved her tea too. The two of them had shared many cups. During one
such moment, Sam had broken her own rule and had trusted her enough
to tell her about her 'gift.' Poor Lucy. She'd thought it had been
so cool. Then one night after drinking too many B52s, she'd told
everyone, once again making Sam an oddity – an outsider. And
reminding Sam of a sad truth – even friends couldn't be trusted. A
lesson she hadn't forgotten since. Her friend had died an ugly
death. And Sam hadn't been able to help her. More guilt.

Sam sighed.

"Heavy thoughts," said Lucy gently.
"Care to share?"

Sam's mouth kicked up at the corners.
"Nothing worth sharing," she murmured.

Lucy leaned back with an unsurprised
nod. "Just so you know I'm always here if you ever want to talk."
After a moment, she continued in a bright cheerful voice. "Here,
try one." A plate of cookies appeared beside the hot
mug.

"Thanks." And Sam meant it. Choosing
a peanut butter cookie, she bit into it. She closed her eyes, a
tiny moan escaping. In the darkness, the rich, buttery peanut taste
filled her mouth. Delicate yet robust and sooo good.

"Not bad, huh?"

Sam nodded, wasting no time in
popping the rest of the morsel into her mouth. Lucy nudged the
plate closer. Sam grinned, and snatched up a second cookie. Lucy
gave her a fat smile of pleasure.

Her mouth full, Sam considered the
woman beside her. This Lucy gave from the heart, freely offering
acceptance and reserving judgment. Sam understood the value of the
gift. At the same time, all that emotion made her
nervous

"Thanks for the tea and cookies." She
took her cup to the sink.

"What do you think of our new
patient?"

"The German shepherd." Sam spun
around. "What happened to him?"

Lucy rose and brought her cup to the
sink. "Sarah found him." Lucy turned around, "You remember my
daughter, Sarah? She works at the seniors' facility..." Without
waiting for a response, she continued talking. "She called in to
say a resident had found the dog injured in the parking lot. Dr.
Walcott drove over and picked him up."

Sam watched as Lucy turned on the hot
water and dribbled a little dish soap over the cup in her hand.
Sarah, she vaguely remembered was activity coordinator at a home
between here and Portland.

Lucy gazed at Sam. "He was in tough
shape. And since he woke up after surgery, well..." She placed the
clean cup upside down on the drying rack. "He won't let any of us
near him unless he's sedated."

Sam chewed on her bottom lip. "Is he
eating? Drinking?"

"Through his IV," Lucy said with a
small grim smile. "We'll see what he's like when it comes time to
check his wounds. Don't get too attached. His prognosis isn't
good."

Already halfway through the doorway
leading to the back of the hospital, Sam stilled and glanced back,
seeing only concern in the other woman's eyes. Resolutely, Sam
headed back her charges.

The shepherd's low growl warned her
halfway.

"It's okay, boy. It's just me. I'll
be taking care of you. Give you food, fresh water, and friendship.
The things that help us get along in life." Although she kept her
voice quiet, warm, and even toned, the growl remained the
same.

She couldn't blame him.

He might be able to get along without
friendships, but she wanted them. Except for her friendship with
Lucy, she'd never had that elusive relationship that others took
for granted.

Sam approached the dog's cage with
care. According to his chart, he'd had surgery to repair internal
bleeding and to set a shattered leg. On top of that, he'd suffered
several broken ribs, a dislocated collarbone and was missing a huge
patch of skin on both hindquarters. Written in red and circled were
the words: aggressive and dangerous. The growling
stopped.

Sam squatted down to stare into his
eyes. The dog should have a name. He didn't give a damn. But a name
gave the dog a presence, an existence...an identity.

"How about..." she thought for a long
moment. "I know, how about we call you Major?"

The dog exploded into snarls and
hideous barking, his ears flattened, and absolute hate filled his
eyes.

"Jesus!" Sam skittered to the far
corner of the room – her hand to her chest – sure her heart would
break free of its rib cage.

"Is everything okay back
here?"

Sam turned in surprise to see one of
the vets standing behind her, frowning. "Sorry," she yelled over
the din of the other animals that had picked up the shepherd's
fear. She waited for the animals to calm down before continuing.
"I'd thought of a brilliant name for the shepherd, but from his
reaction, I think he hates it."

The vet walked over and bent down to
assess his patient. "It could have been your tone of voice or the
inflection in the way you said the name. He'd been abused, even
before this accident." After a thoughtful pause, he added, "I'm not
sure, but it might have been kinder to have put him
down."

"No." Sam stared at him in horror.
"Don't say that. He'll come around." At his doubtful look, she
continued, "I know he will. Give him a chance."

That she seemed to be asking the vet
to give her a chance hung heavy in the room, yet she didn't think
he understood that.

He stared at her, shrewdness, and
wisdom in his eyes.

Then again, maybe she'd misjudged
him. She shifted, uneasy under the intense gaze.

"We'll see. We'll have lots of
opportunity to assess his progress as he recuperates."

Sam had to be satisfied with that.
She knew the dog was worth saving and so, damn it, was she. Her
salvation and that of the dog's were tied together in some
unfathomable way. She could sense it. She'd fight tooth and nail to
keep him safe.

In so doing, maybe she
could save herself.

***

11:45 am

The Bastard had been busy.

Brandt grimly surveyed the room. The
woman lay sprawled across the bed, killed by multiple stab wounds
if the massive blood loss was anything to go by. Any number of
perps could have done this, but Brandt knew the scene would be
clean. Squeaky clean, just like every other one he blamed on this
asshole.

And the woman would have drugs in her
bloodstream, just enough so she wouldn't have been able to struggle
– at least not much. A signature obvious from the more recent
cases. Brandt frowned. This case would move to the head of Brandt's
list. Ammunition for a task force to put this asshole behind
bars.

His fists clenched and unclenched.
Christ, he wanted to kill the Bastard himself.

Blood spattered the walls, carpet,
the trashed bedding…a few drops even going so far as to hit the
ceiling. A large pool of black blood had congealed on the floor
beside the night table. This woman hadn't been murdered – she'd
been butchered. She had to have been in a drugged sleep at the time
of the attack. The only signs of struggle were on the bed, and not
many of them, at that.

She also had long brown hair with a
hint of a curl in it at the ends. Or would have had if the stands
weren't flattened by the weight of the dried blood. The bedding was
some kind of ruffled rose paisley thing. Two points to Samantha
Blair. Deep crown moldings on the ceiling gave her a
third.

"Brandt, the young man who called
this in is waiting out back."

Adam was the youngest member of the
team, with only six months’ experience behind him. Always pale,
today his red hair and freckles stood out more than ever, giving
his face a clownish appearance. He tried to look anywhere but at
the body on the bed. "Kevin said you can take the lead. He'll be
here soon."

Another test. Fine with
him.

"Then, let's go have a talk with the
guy out back." Brandt headed outside of the brick house to question
the waiting man. Tall, slim, and overwrought, the mid-twenties man
sat on the brick step, his hair was brush-cut and his head cradled
by his folded arms. His blue shirt was soaked with tears and his
shoulders heaved and shuddered even as Brandt watched.

Brandt waited to give the young man a
moment. "Jason Dean?"

The younger man snapped to his feet,
nodding in between the tears. "Yes, that's me. Is...is she being
taken away now?" He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, like a young
child.

Brandt glanced back inside the small
dwelling swollen with law enforcement and CSI. "Soon. The coroner
isn't quite done yet."

The man's face paled even further,
and his bottom lip trembled. He took several deep, bracing breaths
and nodded.

With gentle coaxing, Brandt managed
to get the whole story out of him.

They both worked for the same company
and had been going out for close to a year now. They'd gone out for
dinner and drinks last night before returning to her place. He'd
stayed for several hours, leaving around one-thirty in the morning.
When she hadn't shown up at work, he'd called numerous times and
then had slipped over to check on her.

After finishing with Jason, Brandt
walked back inside to wait. Within minutes, Kevin arrived with the
other two homicide detectives on the team, Daniel and Seth. Brandt
paced back and forth in the hallway, chewing on the information in
his mind while he filled them in on what he knew.

"It's him, isn't it? The one you're
always talking about?" Daniel, the second youngest member on the
team asked, a frown wrapped around his forehead. He tucked his
thumb into his pant pockets. Daniel’s paunch matched his wife's
five-months-pregnant belly – a fact the team teased him about
mercilessly.

Each team member in the East Precinct
pulled long hours. Brandt respected that. He wasn't here to rock
the boat. But any cases that could be the Bastard's, he wanted in
on. Simple. And so far, nothing. Except more bodies.

Grimly, Brandt watched as the gurney
was wheeled into the bedroom.

"Chances are good it's him.
Toxicology should confirm it." Brandt leaned against the bedroom
wall and tried to assess the scene – a difficult task with his
emotions still unsettled. He'd have to wait for the tests to come
back to know for sure.

She'd been deliberately arranged with
her legs splayed wide apart, her arms above her head. Open display,
mocking and degrading her for maximum humiliation. Another
similarity between the killer's victims, posed…yet not always in
the same way.