For the Bite of It (8 page)

Okay fine, he could handle Vincent without jumping the guy’s bones. They’d meet, he’d find out what the joker had to say, have a quick bite, and he’d leave. End of story with no beginning in the first place.

He didn’t trust the guy. He was hiding something, but was it murder?

Last night’s erotic dream bounced into his mind, and he almost gagged on his sandwich. He dropped his pastrami onto the wrapping, licking smears of mustard off his fingers.

Heat spread across his chest. He closed his eyes and relieved the memory of Vincent’s sweet touches, the spicy sharp fragrance, and the taste of salty skin. He loved his rich brown skin, and worse, loved the thought of caressing it. The memory of those lips left their imprint. He hated himself for wanting more of that mouth.

What the fuck was happening to him? That dream had been too real, too vivid and too damn hot. He should have insisted that Vincent come to the station instead of meeting him at some goddamn restaurant. Grabbing a couple of chocolate Kisses he had lined up on his desk, he placed them in his pants pocket. He’d need them for the road.

He didn’t hear Free enter their office until she spoke.

“Hey, the M.E. found something funny.”

He sat up in his chair. “Yeah?”

“So when he couldn’t find any trace of poison in the vic’s blood, he ran further tests. He ruled out a heart attack. Not the right enzyme.” She glanced down at the paper in her hand. “So that led him to…” She grimaced. “Can’t pronounce it—choli something or other. Seems Sala had abnormally low levels of this stuff which can lead to muscle paralysis and slowed down breathing.”

Excitement at getting a new lead slammed shut all thoughts about Vincent in his mind. “Mimicking a heart attack.”

“Right-o.”

They were close now. John sensed it. “So what causes low levels of the co-whatever that was?”

“That’s the problem. Apparently several things can, including exposure to certain poisons.” She gave a long-suffering sigh, a fair imitation of the M.E. “None of which were found in the victim’s system. Next time he wants to give a chemistry lecture, you’re it. My head is spinning.”

John grinned at her. “So we’re still looking for something he ingested. But it’s a rare poison that doesn’t stay in the system?”

She shrugged her puzzlement. “Yeah. I think we should start checking out all the places within a three-mile radius where he could have purchased the coffee and donut. Come on, lazy bones, get your chocolate, and let’s go.”

John rubbed a hand over his warm neck. “Ah, Esposito called. Said he has information for me—us. I’m to meet him later, so you’re on your own.”

Free’s smile stretched a mile across her face. “Sounds like a date. You know what you’re doing there, Johnny boy?”

“Don’t start with me, Freesia May,” he emphasized her name, getting a perverse pleasure when she flinched. “I’m just following up on a lead. Okay?” He glared at his partner, daring her to say more.

“Shit, down boy. I’ll let you know what I find out.” Free scooped up her sack purse, shoved the strap over her shoulder. At the door, she turned and winked at John. “Told you he liked you.” She beat a hasty retreat before John could fling a string of cuss words at her.

Was Free onto him?

He tried hard to act straight, whatever the hell that meant. He avoided gay bars, stuck to his cop friends and family for his social life. What little of one he had these days. Giving up relationships with men had seemed a small price to pay in order to keep peace with his parents, and his rank in the department. He’d seen how cops treated gays among their peers. Even in this enlightened age of politically correct responses, prejudice still ran rampant.

John went back to his condo to shower off the grime of the office. He dressed in a pair of black pants and a blue polo that brought out the color of his eyes. His sister, Julie once told him that, and he didn’t question why he cared. He fussed with his hair, then tossed the brush on the bathroom counter. This wasn’t a date.

That erotic dream had rattled him, and brought up hidden feelings he preferred to keep well out of the way of his present life. He didn’t need any complications. If he needed a quick fuck, he’d go out of town. Vegas or San Diego, somewhere safe. He would never pick up a local man.

The few relationships he had with women never went beyond a few months, and that had been in college, when he’d tried to go straight. He’d never been that sexually comfortable around women. Sure, he could perform well enough and women were attracted to him. Still, the phase of dating women had died a quick death.

At thirty-four, his mom fretted over his single status. His dad called him a late-bloomer. He sighed as he fished his car keys from the tray on his kitchen counter. Just the other day, the new ADA had given him her phone number and asked him out to lunch. Pretty in a petite package, smart and with a good job, he could picture his mom salivating at such a prospect for a wife. His cock hadn’t even twitched at the prospect.

His nerves were firing on all cylinders because he was meeting Vincent. John suspected he’d be a hell of a good time in bed. But he was also a suspect, okay, a weak suspect, but Vincent wasn’t telling him the whole truth.

He touched his lips as he envisioned kissing Vincent. Jesus. The vision of that full, sensuous mouth lingered like the after taste of a good Scotch. It seemed so real that he swore when he awakened, he tasted Vincent.

Salty. Sweaty. Sexy.

He adjusted his crotch, his cock suddenly too stiff in his briefs. His heart ached worse than his balls at how difficult it’d be to ignore the attraction between them.

John strode out the door and headed for his car, turning off his guilt, looping like an old movie spool in his head.

He refused to acknowledge his nerves and excitement. He’d walk into the restaurant, order a drink, let Vincent tell him what he had, and then excuse himself. What did he care if he left the man to dine alone?

Feeling better now that he made a decision, he got into the driver’s seat and adjusted the rear view mirror, but not before he caught a glimpse of his face.

So why did he feel like a fish swimming upstream?

Vince hesitated, unsure if she was here as his sister or Lord Council.

“You are looking well, Vin.”

Ah, that was his
sister
talking. “And you, Sera, look tired as hell.” Her eyes lacked their usual shine, dark circles told the story of sleepless nights.

His expulsion had been very hard on Serafina. They had been so close, with barely two years separating them in age. His mother had been quite prolific for a vampire. Births were far and few between which is why young ones were so revered.

“Thank you. A woman always likes to be told that.”

He shrugged. “It’s the truth. Now that you’re here, I assume you want to talk. Shall I drive us to the bakery?”

It would be fine to be seen with her. She was dressed in jeans, designer ones of course, and a thin sweater-like top. Thankfully, not in her Council Lord robes.

“If I may, I would like to see your home.”

He hesitated. The adobe house was his domain. What he had made for himself after they kicked him out.

“You hesitate. Perhaps we may go somewhere private.”

She stared ahead at the street view in front of them. The vulnerable curve of her cheek, her exhausted gaze, all tapped into the affection he had buried but never lost.

“We’ll go to my house.”

They rode in silence, Vince going through at least twenty possible reasons why she was here before they reached his home. He led her in through the garage, watched her look around at his tools, his Schwinn racing bike, his diving gear. All trappings of a life of adventure. Did she see beyond it to the desperate need for something, anything to fill his life?

Leading her into the main living area with its state-of-the-art kitchen at one end and the family room at the other, he tried to see it through her eyes. Glancing at her, he saw nothing but bright interest. No condemnation. No judgment.

He started to pour himself a glass of wine more for something to do than because he needed it. “Will you have a drink?”

“Please. May I?” She gestured with one of her flowing, graceful movements as she headed to the sofa.

“Of course. Take a seat. The usual?”

As he mixed her gin and pink, he wondered what it meant that he had a bottle of bitters in his liquor cabinet to mix his sister’s favorite drink. She was the only one he knew who could tolerate the taste.

Handing her the glass, he sat on the loveseat opposite her, a year’s worth of history, accusations, and regrets lying thick between them.

“Why are you here?”

She fiddled with her glass. “I understand from Angelo that you will not consider the
Jurisdictio’s
offer.”

He snorted. “Some offer. Take on this task for us. In return we’ll give you nothing.”

“Have you asked for anything?”

He shrugged. “I know how they operate.”

“In your human world, in this world that you have adapted to so well,” she gestured to the room. “A man is innocent until proven guilty. Perhaps you should give your elders the same chance.”

“Sera, those same elders were capable of exiling me without proof.”

“For a crime you claimed.”

“Yes, but—.” He broke off and considered her choice of words. “You said claimed.” His tone flat, he refused to let hope unfurl, though it fluttered madly in his heart. “I was exiled for a crime I committed, no?”

She sighed and sipped her gin. “Vinny, I never thought you were guilty.”

He grimaced at the childhood name and set his wineglass down with a thud. “All this time, you never let me know.”

“I am a Council Lord. My actions are governed by much more than familial loyalty.”

“Politics.” He tossed the word out between them, a challenge, and an accusation.

“You scoff at what you call playing the game. Someday, I hope you will understand what I, we the Council Lords, must do to govern. To keep our people safe. I regret that you did not have a chance to spend much time with the Council before this unfortunate incident.”

He too wished he had had a chance to learn more about the governing bodies. He had let things slide, working on his studies of the arcane, thinking he had plenty of time to learn the political ins and outs of the Council and
Jurisdictio
.

“But our mother always said regrets were for the weak. You are strong. You will get through this.”

He shot her a look. “Why are you here? Surely, not to reminisce about old times?”

“I came because it has been too long since you saw your family. I would like to show you.”

He was about to refuse, he didn’t need fresh memories to brood over, but she stood and held out her hand. “Come, Vinny.”

Whether it was because of his nickname or his own yearnings, he placed his hand in hers.

He blinked and opened his eyes. They stood in a corner of a room dedicated to the innocence of childhood. Trucks, trains, and mythical creatures from vampire lore covered the border of the yellow and blue wallpaper. A woman, of medium height, with long red hair, stood at a white dresser, folding and putting away baby clothes. In the ornate carved crib, where his brother Carlo had slept, lay a chubby infant trying hard to reach down and pull his toes up to his face.

Vince started, hungry for the sight of his nephew. “A boy,” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper even though he knew Serafina had used glamour so neither his sister-in-law nor the child could see their unexpected visitors.

“His name is Vincent Gabriel. We call him Cent.”

Vince blinked against the stinging behind his eyes. They had named the boy after him.

Serafina squeezed his hand. “You are not forgotten nor is your sacrifice.”

He stepped closer, drinking in the sight of the dimpled chin and nubby fingers grabbing toes wrapped in secure blue and white socks. The baby glanced up at him and chortled. He reached out with one hand, his face lighting up a toothless grin. Vince knew that vampire babies could sometimes see past the glamour. He pressed a finger to his lips and winked at his nephew.

The buried regrets over his actions, being branded a killer of his own kind, going into exile, trickled out of him slowly, gently. The sacrifice had been worth it. Never again would he question if he had made the right choice. With that thought came a peace that had been missing for a long time.

Vince rolled the delicate stem of the wine glass between his fingers. He would not look at the time again. It was only ten minutes past seven after all.

What a day it had been. Would the night be as interesting? His heart full after having seen his brother’s baby, the unborn child who had been uppermost in his mind when he had taken on another’s burden. He had expected his sister to continue trying to persuade him to accept the Council’s offer to work as the liaison and leader of the exiled vampires. She had said nothing more after transporting him back to his house, hugged him tight, kissed his cheek and left. She’d left him with much to think about.

A man walked in and paused as a woman joined him, linking her arm through his. Surely, he could stop his heart tilting off axis each time someone entered the restaurant. For an exclusive place with only ten tables, there sure was a crowd walking in tonight.

Angelo had introduced him to the owner. The food was superb, the view excellent. At least half the tables faced the panorama of the valley, city lights winking in the distance. The lack of cloud cover might intensify the summer heat during the day but at night, stars twinkled in a clear sky vying for honors with the electric illumination.

Vince breathed deep, the spicy scent of the yellow roses on the table adding to the piquant bouquet of the Bordeaux in his glass. He gave in and glanced at his watch. Eighteen minutes past seven. How long would he wait? Should he wait?

He sipped his wine, gazing at the valley below, wondering what the hell he was doing.

He was a vampire, for Christ’s sake.

The scion to a vast estate, a Chosen heir to the Council of Lords, and governing body of all vampire clans—or at least he had been.