When It Comes (Vampire Assassin League Book 31) (2 page)

“Is this...your car?”

He sighed heavily. That lifted his shoulders significantly. The car park area was much better lit than the arena area. She got a very good look at his size. The man was well over six foot. Nicely muscled. And still hooded.

Darn it.

“Will you return?” she asked.

“Look. Lady. Please. You might be good, but I’m not here for pick-pockets. Got it?”

“Oh. I’m better than good,” she replied.

He shoved his hood off and stole her breath. Her wits. And any ability to speak. Adelaide rocked backward with surprise. And awe.

Oh, my.

Her mate was a gorgeous specimen. A swell of heat took over her midsection, as if she needed it. She’d guess his age at about thirty. He had a lot of dark hair, worn loose and long. It was easily the length of hers. She couldn’t tell eye color. They were a light shade that stunned her into incoherence. The guy was beyond sigh-worthy. He was swoon-inducing. She knew. Her legs wobbled in warning.

He tapped at his ear. “Bryce?”

Addie slid into the vehicle before he called for back-up. Her skirt twisted with the movement, wrapping her legs in the cool sensation of brocade. She wriggled about, using her free arm to settle the fabric about her as elegantly as possible. She didn’t want a female cop handling her. She wanted her mate. And she didn’t even know his name yet. Because he was close-mouthed and full of attitude.

Like every bobby she’d ever come across.

“Cancel, Bryce.” 

He leaned in and smacked the cuff he’d worn onto a bar along the back of the front seat, supposedly securing her. Addie would have watched his movement, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from his face. He had little lines across his forehead as he concentrated. Those made him even more handsome.

He glanced over at her.

“I’ll be back.”

“Soon?” she replied.

“Soon enough.”

“Before sunrise?”

He pulled from the vehicle. Regarded her for long moments. Pulled his hood back over his head. And then he shut the door.

Adelaide watched him walk away. He displayed a distinctive side-to-side movement. Like a swagger. She was already in love with that. She sighed heavily. Broke the cuff. Leapt over the seat. And started rifling the car.

He really should have just told her his name.

CHAPTER TWO

Mitch had a problem.

Actually, he had more than one.

Least of which was losing the deal. A text message had come through as he’d reached the trash area again. He noted the rest of the team was still there, hovered about the cans. Hunched-over. Arms wrapped about their torsos. Stomping their feet. As if it was cold. These guys would never survive a Rocky Mountain spring snowstorm.

Mitch had caught the smirk as he approached. These guys were Federal. From Phoenix. For all he knew, they probably were cold. Well. That was their problem. Mitch didn’t care. They’d shouldered their way into Colorado, made him part of their ongoing investigation, despite his reputation and disagreement. But they were dealing with a huge shipment here. Normally the trouble at Red Rocks was the drug, ecstasy. Not tonight. Tonight there was a two million dollar deal going down. That was a lot of cash. It bought a lot of cocaine. Both had a way of bringing all kinds of roaches out of the woodwork, and that included the FBI.

His burn phone vibrated in his pocket as he approached. Mitch pulled it out. Scanned the message. Made a face.

‘
You snoozed.’

Mitch sighed and joined the others, although he didn’t look or act like the elements had much effect on him. That wasn’t abnormal. He was a native Coloradoan. This was a pleasant evening in the summer. It sure as hell wasn’t cold.

“Well. Looks like the deal’s off, boys,” he told them.

“How do you figure?”

The agent named Randy asked it in an aggressive tone. If it was faked, the guy was a damn good actor. Randy was about thirty-five. Six- four. About two hundred and forty pounds. Muscled. Tattooed. They might be fake. Mitch hadn’t asked. Randy exhibited an intimidating manner from the word ‘hello’. They guy portrayed a man spoiling for a fight. It might not be an act. Might be part of his DNA. Looked as if he’d had his nose broken at one point. Mitch turned the cell around and showed him the screen.

“Damn it!”

“Let me see that.”  Tom, the largest of them grabbed the phone. Peered at the screen. Looked back at Mitch. “It was that fucking pick-pocket.”

“Not hardly,” Mitch replied.

“And she wasn’t even that cute.”

“Oh. She was cute.” 

The third member of their team spoke up as he grabbed for the cell next. His name was Sam. He was wiry. Antsy. Acted like a meth addict in need of a fix. It was a good act. He’d had Mitch fooled at first. Good man for the job. Pound for pound, he was probably the fastest and strongest of them. Sam clicked the power button. The light illuminated his face momentarily. Then it died away. He didn’t say anything.

They were all wrong, however. The woman in Mitch’s vehicle wasn’t just cute. She was majorly gorgeous. And that equaled trouble. There was something really weird about her, too. It wasn’t just the entire package. She had a knock-out figure, displayed in a corset top that had caught Mitch’s glance more than once. Her hair had been a warm brown shade, touched with sun-kissed locks. But it was her eyes that had snagged his attention. They’d looked like shiny obsidian. Dark. Unfathomable. Reflective. The couple of times he’d glanced at them he’d experienced the strangest reaction. Like somebody ran their fingers along his belly, tickling ribs. Mitch couldn’t quite figure that out.

“So. What’s the move, hotshot?”

Randy asked it, making no attempt to hide his aggressive tone. Mitch held out his hand toward Sam for the phone. Put it back in his pocket. He really detested Randy. “Get forensics out here on these cans. Take my pick-pocket into the station. Fill out some paperwork. Get her booked. Go get some sleep. Forget I met you guys. Pretty much in that order.”

“What about the coke deal?”

“What about it?”

“This is your screw-up, asshole.” 

Randy’s hands went to his hips. Mitch’s followed.

“Really? How do you figure?”

“You were made. Admit it.”

“Are you for real?” Mitch asked.

“We’ve worked this case for five months. Five. Long. Months.”  The guy separated the words as if that made a difference. “And you blow it over a stinkin’ pick-pocket.” 

Mitch rolled his head on his shoulders as if working out a cramp. He looked back to Randy. “The deal went off, man. Just, not to us.”

“Someone else is running around out here with two million cash on them?”

“Well. Yeah. Kind-a obvious, ain’t it?” Mitch answered.

“I already don’t like you. You shouldn’t make it so personal.”

Randy said it and then took a step toward Mitch. Sneered. This was interesting. And stupid. The last thing they needed was to start a scuffle at a large rock concert. Randy had him by about an inch in height and reach. Maybe ten pounds. The guy was extremely fit. Agile. But Mitch had a black belt in three different martial arts. This could get very fun. Very quickly.

Mitch considered the guy for long moments without saying anything. Randy needed to drop the antagonistic act. It was way past curtain call. Or, maybe, he really was as pissed as it sounded.

“Well?”  Randy shoved the word at him.

“If I’d been made, I wouldn’t have that kind of message on my phone. They’d have just disappeared. Vamoosed. Poof! Gone.” 

Randy didn’t like his comment. The guy brought his hands up. They were in fists. Mitch jangled his arms at his sides, loosening up. As if this was a prize fight and he was a contestant about to enter the ring.

“Before you do something stupid, buck-o, maybe you should know something,” Mitch informed him.

“You’re an asshole?”

“You didn’t scan my personnel file?” Mitch continued.

“It probably says ‘Does not work well with others’, and we already know that.”

“Darn. You’re onto me,” Mitch replied.

“Funny.”

“Come on, man. The deal soured. This is just a job. We’re all bad-asses. No need to prove it.”

“Maybe you should have thought of that earlier.”

“I’m not worth it, man,” Mitch warned him.

“Now. That. Is true.”

Randy swung. Mitch deflected it, and the jabs that followed. Each time, he made the result just a little more punishing. He’d been conditioned since boyhood for this. Could smack through concrete blocks. He’d demonstrated that skill often enough. Connecting with his hands was the equivalent of hitting bricks. And if Randy didn’t give up, he was going to break a knuckle or two. The guy was a boxer. Well toned. Obviously well-trained. And used to a certain result. It took six tries before the agent stepped back, winced, and shook his arms.

“What the hell?” Randy muttered.

Sam whistled. Tom didn’t say anything. Mitch slid one of his palms across the other as if dusting them, visually scanning the area for any reaction from the crowd. Everyone appeared to be rocking out to music. Didn’t look like anyone had noticed the trash area. That was lucky. He looked back at Randy. Waited.

“Well. Looks like maybe I should have read your file,” Randy finally remarked.

The others chuckled. Grinned. Mitch didn’t join in. He waited for the amusement to die down. An awkward moment ensued, drowned out by music and crowd noise.

“So. We’re good, then?” Mitch asked.

“Uh, yeah.”

One of them answered. Mitch didn’t know which one. He didn’t care, either. It was always the same when he had to work in a group, especially if the FBI was involved. One of them was bound to be a cocksure dumbass. He ran into a lot of them. The department had him analyzed last year as if he was the root cause. The psychologist said it was because he projected a certain aura. Like he wanted trouble. That’s why he usually found it.

“You guys got this, then?” Mitch asked.

“Got what?”

Randy asked it. He didn’t have the same level of belligerence in his tone. That was a pleasant nuance.

“The site. We need it secured. This is a crime scene. We do have one, still.”

“Yeah. We know. Petty theft.”  That was Tom.

“More like grand larceny. I’m going to go now. Got to escort the little lady to her new quarters.”  An odd tingle went through his belly again at the mention of her. Mitch swallowed. Ignored it.

“You need any help with that?” Sam asked.

“Nope.” 

Mitch turned and started the long trek through the crowd of gyrating bodies, back to the parking area. Something was really strange. Whenever he thought of her, he had a reaction. It actually felt like he was getting pulled in her direction. The feeling increased as he neared his car. He was almost jogging. And that’s when he got handed his next problem.

The pick-pocket was gone.

And she’d ransacked his car.

The driver door wasn’t even all the way shut.

Mitch bent and peered into the back seat. He pulled his burn phone out. Turned on the light function. Scanned the area. His cuffs weren’t attached to the holding bar anymore. They were on the floor. She hadn’t slipped them, either. One of them was broken.

Broken.

It wasn’t possible, but that didn’t change what he was looking at. The cuff joint had been ripped apart, the metal twisted. The broken ends were jagged, warped spikes. Looked pretty dangerous. There wasn’t a speck of blood that he could see, but it could have been sucked up by carpeting or upholstery. Mitch ducked in, put a knee on the seat, and shone the flashlight into the front area.

The floor was strewn with paperwork. He didn’t know where it had originated, but the glove box was a prime contender. It was hanging open. Empty. The trash had been dumped upside down, but there hadn’t been much in it. The visors were both lowered. Anything secured in their pockets was missing. None of that would have yielded anything, however. The documentation was clean. In his line of work, there was always a possibility of theft. The car was as anonymous as the Denver Police Department could make it.

Mitch had his badge hooked to the back of his belt, but that was it. He’d left his wallet, a selection of ID cards - mostly fake, a couple of bogus passports, and his real phone in a safe located beneath the passenger seat. Sometimes it held his gun. Not tonight. He had his .38 secured in a shoulder holster. Although it was stupid, Mitch reached a hand under his arm and patted the gun for reassurance. Good thing he hadn’t left it in the safe tonight.

That safe was supposedly inviolate. Ultra-secure. Guaranteed. There were only two keys. One was sealed in an envelope at the station house. Signed and dated and locked in the property room. The other one was attached to his retractable key holder with his other keys.

But none of that mattered in the least because the front of the safe had been pried open. Mitch’s flashlight illuminated bits of wrenched steel that had once been bolts that held the safe closed. He didn’t spot any blood here, either, but it might have soaked into fabric, too. What could be scratch marks were visually apparent along the edge of the safe door. Possibly from a tire iron. Mitch looked over his shoulder, out the back window. The trunk was closed. Looked secured. It might not have been accessed. He turned back to the wreckage. He didn’t know what she might have used to rip a safe open. Or how it was even possible. Unless she had cohorts.

And it was really stupid of him not to have considered that before now.

Mitch eased out of the car. Stood there a moment.
Damn
. This was going to suck. He hadn’t lost any drug deal, but this was almost worse. He’d lost his money. Cards. All his identification. His personal smart phone. To a pick-pocket. Mitch pulled the burn cell phone from his back pocket. Punched in the station’s numbers. Got the duty officer on the first ring.

“Broomfield Station.”

“I need forensics out at Red Rocks,” Mitch informed him.

“Hartnett? That you?”

“Wake somebody. I need the team out here...like tonight.”

“Yeah. We heard.”

The guy started laughing. Mitch grimaced.

“What did you hear?”

“You’re an asshole – which we already knew – you lost the drug deal, but hey. You have a really cute, light-fingered thief on the way.”

“Scratch that. It’s changed.”

“You’re not an asshole anymore?”

“Don’t make me call someone else,” Mitch answered.

“You got three FBI agents on site now. Forensics team on the way. Should be out there in less than twenty. Trash area. Right?” 

“I need another team. In the parking lot. My vehicle. West end.”

The guy’s voice immediately changed. Sobered. “Oh. Hell. What happened? We got a DB now?”

“Nope.”

“Then what?”

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe it.” 

Mitch pulled out the key fob to the vehicle, clicked the button to unlatch the trunk lid. A moment later, he had it open, scanned for intrusion. He’d been right. Nobody had accessed the trunk. Maybe they’d run out of time. He didn’t know and he didn’t care, aside from the fact that he needn’t worry about prints here. Mitch selected another key from his holder. Opened the compartment hidden in the wheel well. Grabbed a roll of crime scene tape. All using one hand. He stood back up. Sighed heavily.