When Temptation Burns: A Shadow Keepers Novel (Shadow Keepers 6) (5 page)

He barked out a laugh. “You wouldn’t be the first to tell me that—and that’s not what I’m gonna say. I killed ’em. Oh, yeah, I slit their pretty throats and watched them die. But you weren’t listening earlier, sugar plum. The question is how? How did I get away with it for so very, very long?”

An accomplice. Of course—he had an accomplice. And that meant that she had a scoop
. She worked to
keep the excitement out of her voice. “The how doesn’t much matter now, Kylie. You’re in for life, asshole, and considering you’re on death row, life isn’t going to be too long.”

“Ouch. You got a mean streak in you, don’t you sweet cheeks? But that’s okay. You play it cool. I know you’re curious. I can see it in your eyes. Those strange, fuck-me eyes.”

Andy flinched, then bit the inside of her cheek to keep from spitting out a retort. She did have unusual eyes, and their oddity—the pale color, the slightly oval irises—had always been something she liked. It made her different. Special. But she had no desire to be special to Creevey.

“You called me here to tell me,” she snapped. “So get on with it.”

“Oooh. Touched a nerve.” He held up a hand to keep her from pushing out of her chair. “Calm down, I’m talking. The truth is, it’s all about friends. The right kind of friends.” He smiled, wide and easy, and leaned back in his chair. “Did you know that vampire blood makes you stronger?”

She couldn’t help groaning as she scooted her chair backward. She thought about the other story that she was currently working on—an investigative piece about a group of locals who really believed in vampires. Had everybody in the world gone loony? “Sorry, Kyle. I didn’t realize that you dragged me here just to waste my time.”

He thrust forward and slammed his hands against the glass so hard she jumped. “Goddammit, girlie, you listen to me.”

She sucked in air, gathering her courage. “The cops didn’t believe your bullshit story, and neither do I.
What? You think you can wrangle an insanity plea now? It’s too damn late.”

His face turned a mottled red, and she could see that he was trying to control his breathing.

She knew she shouldn’t bait him, but she just couldn’t help it. She leaned forward, her voice all low and sweet. “So you had a vampire’s help, Kyle? So what? Didn’t do you much good. Maybe your bloodsucking friends got pissed that you told the world about them, because they sure as hell haven’t done their little vampy thing and pulled you off death row.” She sat back. “Now, you want to tell me something real, or do you want to keep talking about your bullshit fantasies? I’m not twelve, Kyle, and I don’t believe in monsters.”

That wasn’t entirely true. She believed in good, and she believed in evil. And she knew perfectly well that monsters existed—she was looking right at one.

Kyle said nothing, but the anger seemed to flow off of him in waves, so thick it could probably have knocked her over.

She felt the comforting weight of the necklace that had once belonged to her mother. She wore the delicate gold cross always, and now it was tucked beneath her blouse, the metal cool against her skin. She resisted the urge to brush it with her fingertips, and stood up instead. “I’d say it was a pleasure seeing you again, but my daddy taught me not to lie. You’re old news, Kyle, and I don’t have a reason in the world to be talking to you now.” She watched his face carefully—he’d called her here for some reason, and not this vampire bullshit. The question was, had her bluff worked? She had no doubt that this was about exposing an accomplice.
Would he break down and tell her without the ridiculous games?

And then she saw it, a tiny flicker in his confidence. A slight dimming of the smugness in his eyes.

Oh, yeah, Andy. You’ve got him now
.

Confident, she took a step toward the door. Sure enough, he called out, stopping her. She paused before turning to face him, making sure her glee didn’t show on her face.

“Sit,” he said.

“Why the hell should I?”

“You want a name? I’ll give you a name.”

“Playtime’s over,” she said. “You show signs of bullshitting me, and I’m out of here. I’ve got laundry that’s more interesting than listening to you.” She was pushing it, but he had to believe she’d really walk away.

“He took me under his wing. He helped me. Introduced me to others just like him. And he made promises. Glorious promises.”

“Are you saying you killed because he promised you something?”

“I’m not saying anything like that. Not yet.” But his voice was reverent, and he looked sincere. Of course it could all be an act. Still, Andy was willing to take the chance.

“Have you got a name?” she asked.

“Rhys,” Creevey said. “But don’t go looking for him.”

Behind them, the door to the visiting area clicked open. Probably another woman here to see one of the prisoners. Andy ignored it. “He wouldn’t like me?” she asked.

Creevey’s smile was pure evil. “He’d like you too much.”

“Tell me his full name,” she said, but before Creevey could answer, the guard shouldered around her, squeezing
into her field of vision. “Dammit, we’re not done.” She gave him her most businesslike glare. “I have unlimited time today—it’s already been cleared with the warden.”

“Sorry, miss,” the young guard said. “But these gentlemen—”

“Agents,” a deeper voice cut in, and Andy swiveled to see who was speaking. The voice came from a lean man with sharp eyes that belied the exhaustion in his face. The weariness didn’t diminish his rugged good looks, though. She’d spent a summer in Oklahoma with her father when she was a teenager, and the agent who spoke had the wind-sculpted face of a cowboy combined with an almost arrogant self-confidence.

He took a step forward, wearing his rumpled suit with the same air of authority as a politician in perfectly pressed linen. He reminded her of the Marlboro Man, earthy and sexy all at the same time.

He commanded the room, made it his own only seconds after entering, and she knew right then that if she butted heads with him, she was going to lose.

“I’m Agent Doyle,” the suit-wearing, head-butting man said. “This is Agent Tucker,” he added, gesturing to the other man, who was also attractive, but much more polished. Tucker was the kind of guy that casting agents drooled over and women fantasized about having in their beds. But Andy barely noticed him. She was too intent on Doyle. There was just something about him that sang to her, like one of those geometric puzzles where the pieces were all so different, but they fit together perfectly.

Andy, however, wasn’t there to solve a puzzle. “This is my time, agents. If you’ll just wait outside, I’ll be happy to share him when I’m done.”

“No can do. Official business. We’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Excuse me? This is my interview, dammit. First Amendment ring any bells? Freedom of the press?”

He looked right at her, held her gaze for a moment, then shifted his attention to the guard. “I need him in an interview room now. No glass barrier. And I want him transferred as soon as the paperwork goes through. You understand?”

“Transferred where?” Andy asked. “Are you commuting his sentence? Who the hell are you two?”

“Homeland Security,” Agent Doyle said as the guard moved beside her and took her elbow. “And now I really have to insist that you leave.”

As a guard guided Creevey into the bowels of the prison, the woman shoved past Doyle, her disturbingly familiar eyes piercing him with anger and disappointment, and sending a jolt of regret coiling through him.

Those eyes. Jesus, the woman’s eyes were just like Kathryn’s
. That pale blue, so faint it seemed like little more than wisps of fog. The flecks of gold in the irises, unremarkable until the light caught them just right, and then they sparkled like jewels.

“Who’s Kathryn?”

Doyle’s head snapped up to meet his partner’s eyes. “What?”

“I knew you weren’t up to this. You’re zoning on me, man. The way you get when you need to feed. Only this time you said a name. You said—”

“Kathryn.” He turned away from Tucker, not wanting his partner to see his expression. Kathryn, his love. Kathryn, so fragile and pure. Kathryn, who had been dead for over two centuries, her beautiful body perishing in the fire that took so many that night. The fire that had started because of him. Him, and Lucius Dragos, a goddamned vampire he’d once called friend.

“So?” Tucker persisted. “Who is she?”

“Nobody,” Doyle lied, deliberately shedding the memory like a snake sheds its skin. He shifted his gaze back toward the glass barrier. Behind it, Creevey’s chair now sat empty. “Let’s go. They must have him set up in interview by now. We don’t want to keep our little friend waiting.”

As they moved down the hall, Doyle let Tucker lead the way as he hung back, breathing slow, trying to work past his exhaustion and gain the control he needed to do his job. His skin felt alive, as if a thousand small creatures were crawling just under the surface.
Not creatures. Him. What he was inside just bursting to get out
.

Half-human and half-daemon, the child Doyle used to be had learned early how to keep his daemon side buried. His bastard of a daemon father had raped his mother, and she’d kept the baby only because she believed that God was testing her, and that he’d entrusted her with the mission of pushing the daemon out of Doyle. Every night, she honored that mission by bruising his bottom with an elm switch, telling him to focus on the pain, because it would drive the evil out. And if he couldn’t rein it in, then beheading would surely do the trick.

So, yeah, he’d learned control, and he’d easily passed for human as a young boy.

But then he’d turned twelve, and the hunger had
begun. The raw craving, not for food, but for souls. A vile appetite that he’d inherited from his father and that even his mother’s switch couldn’t beat out of him, though she’d tried her damnedest.

He’d fought as he always had, wanting to be the perfect human child his mother had always wanted, because then maybe she’d love him, and he would love her, and the black, bilious hatred that had grown between them would fade away. But there was no way he could fight that hard. He’d lost in the end, and he’d learned the true, horrible nature of what he was.

With effort, he stifled a shiver, forcing the memories down. He didn’t want to go there. He’d learned; he’d changed. For centuries he’d been controlling the hunger; he wasn’t weak like some shadowers. He could hang on for a few more hours. He had to, because the lives of the still-missing girls depended on it.

Tucker had paused at the door to the interview room, and now he watched critically as Doyle approached.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Tucker said, but he pulled open the door. “After this, you feed.”

Silently, Doyle shoved past his partner into the room. He knew Tucker was only watching his back, just as partners were supposed to do. He also knew that this itchy, gnawing urge to bite his friend’s head off was because of the hunger. But that didn’t make it any easier.

Since there was no glass barrier in the interview room, Creevey was secured to the sturdy steel table with handcuffs and leg irons. Unnecessary precautions, Doyle thought. Creevey was vicious, but only human, and Doyle had a paradaemon’s strength. But neither Creevey
nor the men who ran the penitentiary knew that, and rules had to be followed.

“Caught Homeland’s attention, did I? Guess I should feel pretty flattered.”

“Homeland? Creevey, you don’t know the half of it. You’ve stirred up quite a lot of shit.” Doyle slid into a chair as he shot a sideways glance toward Tucker. “Are we recording?”

“That’s a negative. This is off the record.”

Creevey’s face hardened. “The fuck it is. You want me to talk, you get me my lawyer. I know my rights.”

“Rights? Kyle, my boy, you haven’t got shit. Not with us. Not in this room. And I’ll tell you a little secret—we’re not really with Homeland Security.”

“No? Then what the hell are you doing here?” Creevey’s face didn’t change, but Doyle heard the hint of fear creep into his voice. Even on death row, Creevey wasn’t used to not being the one in charge.

“Got a few questions for you, Kyle. And I don’t have time to dick around.”

“That a fact?” The human leaned back, his smug expression grating on Doyle’s already tight nerves.

Doyle leaned in, slow and dangerous. He caught the rotten scent of Creevey’s tattered soul and felt the hunger rumble through him once more. “Careful, Creevey. I eat shitbags like you for breakfast.”

For a moment, Creevey’s face suggested that he knew exactly what Doyle was saying. Then he blinked, and the swagger returned. “You came to see me, remember? Guess that means we’re on Creevey time now.”

Slowly, Doyle settled back into his chair. “Tell me about Rhys. Tell me where he’d go to hole up.”

Creevey’s knuckles whitened as his hands tightened against the edges of the table. “Who the fuck is Rhys?”

“Wrong answer, you sanctimonious shit. The FBI may not have believed your story about how you were trying to impress your vampire friends, but I’m more open-minded. Because I know something the FBI doesn’t. I know that vampires are real. But guess what, Kyle,” Doyle added, lowering his voice as he stood and eased around the table. He got right behind the slick fuck and leaned in close, his voice dropping even further to whisper, “I’m the guy that even the vampires are afraid of. So tell me where he is. Because if you don’t, I can promise you’ll regret it.”