Blood Secrets (22 page)

“Yeah, a hairline fracture in the back of the porcelain head,” he answered. “It was partially obscured by the wig but I noticed one tail end of it along the neck where the head joins the body.”

“So the doll was damaged and no longer capable of containing a soul,” Freddy said.

“That would be my guess.” Alex stifled a yawn. The lack of sleep from the previous night was starting to catch up to her. She propped her chin on the palm of her hand and rested her elbow on the workstation. “Porcelain heads and bodies made of human skin aren’t easy to make. He’s not doing it in a weekend. He’s taking his time with them.”

“Maybe he takes his time with the victims as well,” Varik said. “If preserving a soul is that important to him, he’d probably want to spend time with the victim.”

“It’s possible.” Alex’s eyes drooped and closed behind her sunglasses. Sleep tugged at her consciousness and made her body feel heavy. “We should call Doc Hancock and ask if he’s finished the autopsy on our Jane Doe from the salvage yard. If we can establish an identity and time of death, I think—”

“I think it’s probably best if we take a break and grab some food,” Varik interrupted. “We’re all hungry. I’ve heard Freddy’s stomach grumbling for the past ten minutes. We can pick this up in an hour or two.”

For once, Alex didn’t argue. She was tired but as soon as he mentioned food, her stomach rumbled to remind her she hadn’t eaten since that morning. She reluctantly allowed Varik to help her to her feet and guide her down the steps of the mobile lab. The November air was much colder now than when they arrived and she leaned into him for added warmth as they traversed the parking lot in silence.

They slowed and she assumed they were close to Varik’s Corvette.

Varik sighed. “Alex, I’m sorry about earlier, with Morgan. I should’ve told you about our past relationship when you told me she was coming here.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t. We were on-scene and with everything that happened afterward—I don’t know what you want me to say, Alex. You expect me to be either some squeaky-clean schoolboy without a past or to bare my soul to you and fill you in on all the dirty, gory details. Well, I’m not and I can’t.”

“I know you have a past, Varik, and it’s trying to kill me.”

“That’s not fair, and you know it.”

“Fair?” she scoffed. “You want to talk about what’s
fair
? You keep saying I should tell you everything because we’re bond-mates, but you’re not willing to do the same. And you wonder
why
I have a hard time trusting you?”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

“Protect me from
what
?” she shouted. “I hear that a lot, too, but ever since you showed up I’ve been shot, beaten up, possessed, and blinded, and yet you haven’t
offered one
single
scrap of evidence that suggests I need protection from anything other than
you
!”

Her voice echoed across the parking lot, and Alex realized what she’d said. She reached for him, clutching at his shirt. “Varik, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

She expected him to shy away but he took both her hands in his and pulled her into an embrace. “Yes, you did.”

She shook her head. “No, I—”

He silenced her with a kiss.

Alex returned the kiss, pressing herself to him as if she could take back her words and soothe the pain she’d inflicted in a single act.

Varik broke the kiss and touched his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

When she tried to protest, he touched a finger to her lips.

“I haven’t been completely honest with you about my past, about Morgan, about Edward—a lot of things—but baby, you have to understand. There are people in my past who wouldn’t hesitate to use you to get to me. I
have
to keep some secrets because I
have
to keep you safe.” He wrapped her in his arms once more. “I nearly went insane when Edward died. The thought of losing you …”

“I understand,” she murmured. “And I’m sorry I said all those things.”

“They needed to be said.”

Alex tightened her hold. “That’s no excuse though.”

He peeled away from her. “Perhaps not but let’s put it behind us for now and go have lunch. I’m starving.”

She couldn’t keep the smile from her face.

They reached his Corvette, and he assisted her with settling into the passenger seat before closing the door.

“Excuse me, sir,” a man’s muffled voice materialized
outside. “My battery seems to be dead. You wouldn’t happen to have any jumper cables, would you?”

Alex frowned. Alarm bells sounded in her head. Something about the voice sounded familiar.

“Uh, yeah,” Varik responded warily. “I have a set in the trunk.”

She heard the two move away from her door, their voices growing fainter. A weak odor filtered into the car, wrinkling her nose. She inhaled, trying to place the scent.

Leather and old blood.

“Varik!” she called. She managed to open the door as the sounds of a struggle arose from the rear of the car. “It’s him! It’s the Dollmaker!”

Something heavy slammed into the car beside her, knocking Alex from her feet. The back of her head banged painfully against the window as she fell. She heard the sound of flesh striking flesh, a series of loud grunts, and then silence except for one person’s heavy breathing and her own heartbeat.

“Varik?” she said softly, inwardly cursing the blindness that still afflicted her. “What’s happening?”

She heard someone kneel in front of her. The smell of leather and old blood covered her.

“Hello, chickie,” the Dollmaker whispered. A rough hand grabbed her arm, and she felt a sharp pinprick in her wrist.

She fought to free herself as the drug he’d injected rushed through her body. Whatever he’d given her worked rapidly, as her movements slowed and her words slurred. “What have you done to Varik?”

“Put him out of his misery.” He hauled her to her feet. “And now you’re going to be mine. Forever.”

Tasha groaned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she sat up. She yawned and blinked against the sunlight
filtering through the west-facing windows of her bedroom. Squinting against the light, she tried to reason why the sun was rising in the west.

“Shit,” she hissed and then moaned as her head thumped with pain and her stomach lurched. She rolled from the bed, grabbing for any nearby clothing. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Something wrong, Mama?”

Tasha screamed, dropping the clothes she gathered, and patted her hip, reaching for a sidearm that wasn’t present. She backed up against the closet door, staring at the obviously amused—and naked—man in her bed. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

He chuckled and stretched, thick corded muscles rippling under dark skin. “If you don’t remember
that
, then I did
not
do my job right last night.”

“Last night?” Tasha scratched her head.

She remembered going to the Duck ’n’ Cover last night to meet someone who never showed. Dinky had supplied her with Bayou Bombs—the thought of which made Tasha’s stomach somersault—and there was a band. “Rueben.”

He grinned. “Ah, so you
do
remember. I don’t think my ego could take it if you didn’t.”

A draft blew across her bare legs. She looked down and cursed, grabbing a short satin robe from the closet doorknob and slipping it on to cover her nakedness. Another glance at the windows made her groan. “I am so fucking fired.”

“No, you’re not.”

Tasha frowned at Rueben as she tied her robe. “What do you mean by that and can you please cover yourself?”

Rueben pushed himself up, leaned against the headboard, and draped a corner of her comforter over his lap. “Someone called here looking for you this morning.
I told them you were sick and couldn’t make it in today.”

“And they believed you?”

He laughed. “Yes. Would you have preferred I told them you were passed out in an alcohol-induced sexual stupor?”

“Absolutely not!” Tasha hugged herself and sat on the edge of the bed. “Did they want to know who you were?”

“I told them I was a friend and you’d asked me to come over to take care of you.”

Tasha hid her face in her hands, silently cursing her stupidity. How could she let herself get so drunk she brought home a strange man, had sex with him, and then failed to report to work the next day? Tears pressed against her closed eyes and she could no longer hold them back.

“Whoa, hold on,” Rueben said behind her. “What did I say?”

Deep sobs racked her body and she was unable to speak.

“Hey, if it was what I said about the sex, I was joking. I didn’t touch you. I swear.”

“What?” Tasha asked, looking over her shoulder.

He shrugged and offered her a lopsided smile. “It was a joke. We had such a good time last night joking around I didn’t think you’d think I was serious.”

She used the hem of one sleeve to wipe her eyes and shifted her position so she could see him without craning her neck.

He skimmed a hand over his bald head. “The truth is that I drove you home because you didn’t need to drive yourself. You got sick as soon as we got inside the house and passed out. I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

Her gaze dropped to his bare chest and his own followed.

“Did I mention you got sick
on
me?”

Tasha whimpered and hid her face again.

Rueben chuckled and pulled her hands away. “I got you in bed, washed my clothes, and took a shower. I lay down here with you so I could keep an eye on you and must have fallen asleep. I
swear
I never laid a hand on you for any other reason.”

Staring into his coal black eyes, Tasha believed him. Snippets of their conversation at the bar were coming back to her. He’d kept her company in between sets with the band while she waited for—

She jumped to her feet and began searching through the pile of clothing on the floor. “Where is it?” she muttered, turning pockets inside out. “No, no, no … come on … be here …”

“What’s wrong?” Rueben asked from the bed.

“I had a journal, a little pink leather-bound book, last night. I have to find it.”

“I didn’t see a book.”

Tasha stopped her search and stared at him.

“I’m sorry, but I think I would’ve seen a book.”

Fear and guilt slithered up her spine like twin snakes and she collapsed on the bed. As soon as it was discovered that she was the one who’d stolen the journal from the lab, her career would be over.

Without the journal, her mystery callers were bound to withdraw their offer of assistance. Without their assistance, she couldn’t fight Caleb.

And she’d lose Maya.

Kirk was fucked and he knew it. He’d let Piper get away. Now he had to find the bitch before she went to the cops and told them everything about his operation.

He parked his silver Porsche down the street from her apartment, making sure he had a good view of the exit. When she left, he’d follow her, and when the time was right, he’d swoop in and grab her. The scenario that would follow played out in his head like a movie scene. He’d take her somewhere secluded, fuck her until she begged him to kill her, and then he’d fuck her some more. Only when he was satisfied he’d had her every way he could imagine, then he’d drain her dry and leave her battered corpse for the birds.

A car approached the entrance of the apartment complex and he tensed for a moment, but it wasn’t Piper. He sighed and picked up the small Thermos beside him. The mixture of blood and vodka burned his throat as he swallowed. Images of the fight he’d had with Piper, seen from above and intensified by the alcohol, flitted through his mind and he shuddered.

It’d been a shame to kill the new bunny—Jennifer, wasn’t that her name?—and leave her body behind an abandoned hardware store, but she’d seen and heard too much after Piper’s outburst. At least her blood was useful. He capped the Thermos as he settled in his seat to wait with the lingering taste of blood coating his tongue.

His thoughts once more turned to his plans for Piper. Anticipation made his dick hard and had him squirming in his seat. He’d need to be careful and not kill her too quickly. He’d made that mistake in the past and the satisfaction hadn’t been nearly as intense as he’d hoped.

No one turned on Kirk Beljean and lived.
No one
.

Another car approached the complex’s entrance and he perked up. A white Nissan Sentra paused at the entrance as a garbage truck passed and then turned right, heading up the street and away from Kirk.

“Gotcha, bitch,” he muttered and started the Porsche’s engine. He waited until the Nissan had reached the stop
sign at the other end of the street, left turn signal winking like a spasmodic eye, before he steered his car onto the street and into pursuit.

He paused at the stop sign long enough to see Piper’s car turning right down another street. The Porsche lurched forward and tires squealed as he took the next turn a little too fast.

Keeping the Nissan in sight, he followed at a safe distance so as not to spook the driver, but after several more turns onto side streets, Kirk frowned. The route the Nissan carved through the town was taking them farther into downtown Jefferson.

“Where the fuck are you going?” he asked. Realization hit him when he caught a glimpse of the Nassau County Municipal Center’s roofline, now only blocks away. “Fucking goddamn bitch! You are so fucking dead!”

He couldn’t allow her to reach the Center and the police. A train’s horn sounded in the distance and he grinned. The railroad tracks were between their current position and the Municipal Center. If the timing was right, he could use the delay caused by the train to his advantage. His foot pressed the gas pedal to the floor and the Porsche shot forward.

Kirk whooped as warning bells combined with a blast of a train’s horn. Red-and-white-striped barriers lowered across the road, trapping Piper’s car between an eighteen-wheeler semi and his Porsche. He skidded to a stop behind the Nissan, angling his vehicle to cut off her escape route.

Jumping from the car, he could see the panic on Piper’s face that increased to horror when he reached the driver’s-side door and lifted the handle.