High Stakes (6 page)

‘Bo. Look at me.’

Unwillingly, I turn my head. Kimchi mistakes my movement for something exciting and immediately bounces up, tail wagging.

Michael blinks. ‘That’s not yours, is it?’

I sigh. ‘No. His owner thinks he might be a vampire.’

‘A vampire dog?’

‘He’s a bloodhound.’

My joke falls flat and Michael seems puzzled. ‘He looks like a mutt.’

Kimchi starts gnawing Michael’s shoelace. ‘He likes you. He only eats the shoes of people he likes.’

‘Is that so?’

I shrug. ‘It’s what I’ve decided anyway.’

He orders a beer then eyes me carefully. ‘You seem … pissed off.’

‘It’s been a long night.’

‘I mean pissed off with me.’

I bite my lip. It’s not his fault that being near him makes me feel as skittish as newborn kitten. ‘I just feel a bit awkward, that’s all,’ I admit.

‘I realised that when you said you wanted to meet in a bar.’ He sighs. ‘Bo, is this about what happened in the vampette restaurant?’

That and the fact I’ve got a photo underneath my mattress that suggests you’re a cold-blooded killer who enjoys chopping people’s heads off. ‘Sort of,’ I say. ‘You tell me you like me but you don’t want to be with me.’ I scrunch up my face. ‘And there’s the whole “you must do what I say because I’m Lord Montserrat” gig you’ve got going on.’

He takes my hands and heat surges through my veins. ‘What I said was that you’re under my skin. That I dream about you. But you need to come to terms with being a vampire first. I’m not going to be your recruit-rebound guy.’

‘My what?’

‘It happens a lot. Newbie vampire gets all flushed with their new power and lease of life. Shags the first available guy – or girl – then moves on. And as for the “you must do what I say” part, I’ve not really done that with you.’

I meet his eyes. It’s not fair that he can be so laid back while my stomach is in knots. ‘You wouldn’t tell me what you did with the Medici bloodguzzler you knocked unconscious in the middle of the street.’

‘I seem to recall that you did most of the damage, Bo,’ he says mildly.

‘You know exactly what I mean.’

He runs a hand through his hair. ‘Does it make a difference?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say quietly. ‘Besides, what if the only reason we’re attracted to each other is because you’re the one who turned me?’

‘Who cares what the reason is?’

‘I care.’

‘You’re over-thinking things.’

I take another drink. ‘I can’t help it.’

He stares at me, his dark eyes hooded. ‘Why don’t we simply start over then?’ he says finally. ‘My name’s Michael.’

I swallow. ‘Bo.’

The corner of his mouth quirks up and I have to resist the urge to reach out and touch it. ‘Nice to meet you.’

I give him a small smile and fiddle with my glass. ‘So is this good morning for you or good night?’

He grimaces. ‘At bit of both. I was up most of the night trying to find out what happened to the woman in Jubilee Park. The police were not cooperative.’

‘Neither were the Families.’ I tell him about the Gully and Bancroft ‘suspects’.

‘I forget sometimes how new you are to all this. It’s pretty standard.’

‘Castrating rapists?’

He shrugs. ‘It’s what we do. Don’t tell me you disagree?’

‘Well, yes. Not that I don’t think they’re absolute bastards but I don’t see how it solves any problems. Rape is about power, not sex. Castration’s just so … extreme.’ I shake my head.

‘It’s a choice, Bo. We don’t go to them and ask if they want to be recruited. They come to us. Those are our terms.’

‘So you lot were telling Matt the truth? That in four Families there are only two rapists? One of whom isn’t really a rapist anyway?’ I twist my fingers together. ‘Although I admit that now I’m no longer surprised.’

He frowns. ‘Four Families?’

‘Medici wouldn’t play ball.’

He snarls quietly. ‘We need to do something about him.’

‘I know. Grandfather seems to think we’re better off waiting for Medici to make a move first.’ I look at him pointedly. ‘I don’t agree but you’re the one who thought the old man would be good for New Order.’

‘So did Arzo.’ Michael punches me lightly on the arm. ‘And so did you, even if you won’t admit it.’

I glance up at him through my eyelashes. ‘Yeah, yeah.’

He smiles. ‘So that was your night? Rounding up dogs and interviewing dodgy vampires?’

‘I found out who the victim was too.’

He starts. ‘The police told you?’

‘No, I did a little digging.’ I know I sound smug; I can’t seem to help it. ‘Her name is Corinne Matheson. I’m pretty certain she’s a prostitute.’

‘Really?’ He looks thoughtful. ‘That puts a different spin on things.’

I nod. ‘Her attacker could have been a client. From what little the police did tell me, whoever it was tortured her.’ I look away. ‘There were stakes, Michael. They impaled her hands with wooden stakes.’

He blanches. ‘Sweet Jesus.’

Kimchi whines and licks my hand. As he does, I feel the odd prickle across the back of my neck alerting me to the sun’s impending approach.

‘I have to go.’ I hop off the stool.

‘I can walk you back if you wish.’

‘It’s okay. I have Kimchi to protect me.’

He gives me a funny look. ‘The dog’s name is Kimchi? Isn’t that…’

I bob my head. ‘Believe me, I’ve already gone through this.’ I twist my hands nervously. ‘Well, see you.’

‘Bo,’ he calls softly, when I’m already halfway out the door. ‘Let’s do this again. It wasn’t so bad, was it?’

‘I guess not.’ I smile at him while my stomach somersaults. Maybe next time I’ll ask him about the photo.

Chapter Five: Puppy Love

When I open my eyes eight hours later, my small flat is a scene of utter devastation. I spring to my feet, eyes wide as I take in clouds of white stuffing, some unidentifiable beige material, and my clothes strewn about. I’d been tired, sure, but the thought that someone could wander while I was fast asleep and trash the place sends my heart racing. I don’t own anything of value so a thief would get little joy from rifling through my belongings. Then it occurs to me what the intruder may have been after. I sprint to the tiny kitchen and fling open the fridge door, scrabbling towards the back. Relief floods through me: X’s little vial of dark red blood – and the theoretical cure for vampirism – is still there. I close my eyes and rock back on my heels until something cold nudges my back.

Twisting round, I’m greeted by Kimchi. He thumps his tail on the floor. I frown at him. ‘Did you do this?’ I scoop up the nearest ball of fluff and hold it out while he looks away, suddenly unable to meet my eyes. ‘You’re in the doghouse, buster,’ I tell him sternly.

There’s a scrawled note on the kitchen table from Connor, informing me that he took the dog to the vet but it would be a day or two before we received the blood tests back. I wonder what the vet’s face was like when Connor told him he wanted the mutt checked for vampirism. I’m also tempted to ask him to return my key. Dropping in unannounced is one thing; dropping in and leaving the Drool Master is something entirely different.

Sighing, I fill a bowl with water and place it on the floor, before opening various cupboards to find something doggy friendly for Kimchi to eat. Given how many of my belongings he’s managed to chew through, he’ll probably eat just about anything. I find a tin of tuna hiding behind some teabags and gaze at it. I must have bought it during one of my ‘I’m going to eat normal food like a human’ shopping expeditions. I don’t have to eat anything – vampires can survive on blood alone, but most still enjoy eating real food sometimes. Ria, in one of her more benevolent moods, gave me a specially created vampire cookbook not long after I moved in here. Most of the recipes seem to incorporate blood and, quite frankly, turn my stomach. It was a nice thought though.

I open the tin and tip out the tuna onto a plate. Kimchi scarfs it down in five seconds flat and doesn’t seem to suffer from any immediate ill effects. I’ll have to buy some real dog food pronto, though. He licks the plate shiny clean then sneaks a look up at me. There’s a faint whine.

‘Are you saying that because you want more to eat?’ I ask. ‘Or is that an apology for destroying my soft furnishings?’

He barks once and leaps up, placing his paws on my legs. His saliva-dripping tongue veers perilously close to my bare skin so I extricate myself carefully.

‘Sit,’ I tell him in as commanding a tone as I can manage.

He looks delighted and jumps again. I’m about to try again when his ears prick up. He bounds to the front door, tail wagging so fervently I’m amazed it’s still attached to his body. Three seconds later, the doorbell rings and, on cue, Kimchi starts barking.

Unable to reach the door handle thanks to Kimchi’s ecstatically vibrating body, I grab his collar and try to pull him away. ‘No!’ I say firmly.

He ignores me and continues yelping. Idiot dog. Or, to be more accurate, idiot me. Even Brinkish had managed to control him; I’m clearly not cut out to be a dog handler. For expediency’s sake, I scoop him up into my arms. Kimchi seems to think this is some kind of new game and wriggles around in delight. I get him into the bedroom and shut the door – then it occurs to me that now he can gnaw on my bedsheets as well as my clothes and cushions. As he’s fallen suspiciously quiet, no doubt that’s what he’s immediately set about doing.

Giving up on the dog, I open the door and peer out. When I see who it is, I fall back in surprise. It’s been a while since I saw Rogu3 face to face and he’s grown about a foot and a half in the intervening months. Gallingly, he’s now taller than I am. He still has the gangliness of a teenager, however, and grins at me awkwardly.

‘Hi, Bo.’ He glances at my clothes. ‘Oh, did I wake you?’

I realise I’m still wearing my rather threadbare pyjamas, dotted all over with teddy bears. Hardly a kickass vampire PI, then.

‘I keep different hours these days,’ I mutter, feeling somewhat embarrassed. I beckon him inside. ‘What are you doing here, Rogu3?’

He scratches his neck. ‘Do you want me to go?’

Realising how easily my question could have been misconstrued, I backtrack. ‘No, of course not! It’s great to see you.’ To emphasise my words, I lean over and give him a hug. ‘It’s just that you normally prefer the whole incognito thing.’

‘I thought you’d want this.’ He gives me a slim file.

I flip it open. The first sheet is a mugshot of woman in her twenties. Typed next to the photo are the words ‘Matheson, Corinne’. I raise my eyebrows. ‘Is telepathy a new trick of yours?’

Rogu3 shrugs. ‘It was all over the news. I figured it was the kind of thing you’d be after.’

‘It is.’ My suspicions, however, are on full alert. I can’t believe he stayed up half the night to pull all the information he could extricate from the virtual world merely on the off-chance that I’d want it. He’s a great kid but he’s smart enough to charge market value for his services. Given that I still owe him money, something else is going on. ‘What do you really want?’

‘Um,’ he flushes. ‘Nothing, just…’

I suddenly realise something is different. I grin at him. ‘Your voice! It’s broken!’

‘Yeah,’ he admits, smiling. ‘I was pretty much the last one in my class, which was kind of embarrassing, especially when it kept cracking at the wrong moments. But last week’s word of the week was “stentorian”. Mainly because when I’m not concentrating, I sound like my old primary school teacher who enjoyed bellowing loudly about decimal points.’

I’m glad he’s not grown up so much that he’s putting aside his more endearing personality quirks. ‘Try me,’ I say.

Rogu3 clears his throat. ‘No, you foolish child,’ he booms, ‘calculators are reserved for the arithmetically challenged!’

I clap my hands. ‘Impressive. And definitely stentorian. Now tell me why you’re here.’

There’s a snuffling sound at my bedroom door. He throws me a look. ‘Either you’ve really changed since you’ve become a bloodguzzler, Bo, or you’ve got a new friend.’

‘It’s a case I’m working on. Answer the question.’

He swallows. ‘You can say no…’

‘Granted. Go on.’

He stands back up, thrusting his hands into his pockets. ‘This is stupid,’ he mumbles. ‘Forget I was ever here.’

‘Rogu3, sit down. You can ask me anything. I won’t bite.’ His eyes fly to mine and I smile softly. ‘I promise.’

‘Okay, yes,’ he nods. ‘I can trust you. I’ve known you for like forever.’

Forever clearly means something different to a teenager than it does to me. ‘Sure.’ I wait for him to speak but he just shuffles his feet. For some reason, neither of his shoelaces are tied. ‘Rogu3, are you in trouble? Is it the hacking?’

His head swings dejectedly in dissent.

‘Your exams? You were taking your GCSEs early, weren’t you?’

‘Only Maths. It went fine.’

‘Your parents?’

‘No. It’s not them.’

‘Rogu3,’ I say gently, ‘you’re going to have to give me something here.’

His bottom lip juts out and for one horrifying moment I think he’s about to cry. He draws in a deep breath and manages to keep hold of himself. ‘Her name is Natasha,’ he says.

It’s just as well he’s staring down at his trainers rather than looking at me because my mouth drops open. I shut it quickly. I should probably have guessed what the problem is, but he’s always struck me as particularly confident and together. I suppose it doesn’t matter who you are – when you fall in love, you get the same tinge of madness along with it.

‘She’s your girlfriend?’

He kicks at the chair leg. ‘I wish.’ He sighs. ‘I’m a geek. A nerd who hides in his parents’ garage and messes around on computers all day long.’

‘Who’s probably more successful now than any of your peers will ever be,’ I point out. Then I add hastily, ‘Not that I condone illegal activity.’

‘If you don’t want those files, I can take them back.’ He gestures to Corinne Matheson’s folder in my hands.

‘You know I’m going to keep them.’ I put the folder down. ‘Let’s focus on Natasha, shall we?’

‘She’s a goddess. She’s smart and pretty and cool.’ Rogu3 sniffs. ‘And popular.’