Blood Secrets (24 page)

“What have you done to me?” she asked between gasps.

He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Why, nothing, darling.”

“Where am I? I want to go home.”

“You
are
home.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“You’ll come to love it here.”

“No.”

“But first, we need to get you off this cold floor.”

Before she could protest, he’d shifted to one side and scooped her into his arms. He laid her on the bed and then she could hear him rummaging in a table drawer.

She heard the tinny
pop
of a needle through thin rubber and the soft slide and gurgle of a syringe being filled. Alarm raced through Alex. She scooted away from him. “What is that?”

“Just something to help you relax so you can rest.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Now, this won’t hurt—”

Alex sprang toward what she hoped was the foot of the bed and the door.

A hand grabbed her ankle, knocking her to the bed, and she felt the sharp sting of a needle in the back of her thigh. Warmth spread through her and her muscles seemed to collapse under their own weight. She tried to push herself up, to no avail.

She heard him return the syringe and vial to the drawer.

He rolled her onto her back, slid her around until her head rested on an overstuffed pillow, and pulled a fluffy comforter over her once more. “There we go. That wasn’t so bad. Now, you get some rest.”

She tried to resist when he leaned forward and his mouth found hers. His tongue brushed across her lips, seeking entry. She made a noise of protest and turned her head.

His voice held a smile. “I have some work to finish, but if you need anything, just call.”

“Your name.” She struggled to get the words out as she sank deeper and deeper into the haze that had suddenly filled the room. “Tell me your name.”

“Peter,” he whispered and his voice shook as he continued. “Now get some rest. I’ll check on you in a little while.”

As the last vestiges of consciousness slipped away, her whisper was consumed by the darkness. “Varik …”

The Nassau County medical examiner’s office was housed in a little-used wing of Jefferson Memorial Hospital and shared a morgue with the facility. However, the county officials had thought to secure a separate entrance for the ME’s office, a feature Varik was grateful for as he slowly made his way up a loading ramp to a gray metal fire door.

He pushed a button on the security pad next to the door and heard a faint buzzing from inside. He waited a moment and then waved his FBPI credentials in front of the small camera attached to the security pad. A red light on the pad turned green and a series of clicks sounded as the door unlocked. Entering the hallway, he paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the fluorescent lights before limping toward the distant offices and autopsy room.

A young human carrying a clipboard appeared from around a corner and stopped as he caught a glimpse of Varik. “Holy shit!” Jeffery Stringer exclaimed. “You look like reheated hell.”

“Where’s Doctor Hancock?” Varik asked, stopping in front of the deputy medical examiner.

“Autopsy room, finishing up his notes on Trunk Girl.”

Varik pushed past him.

“Do I want to know what the other guy looks like?” Jeffery called after him.

“Not nearly as bad as he will once I get my hands on him again,” Varik shot over his shoulder.

Jeffery emitted a low whistle and quickly picked up his route to wherever he’d been going.

Varik winced as he turned a corner. The pain in his leg was decreasing, but the muscles still protested being used so quickly after his fight with the Dollmaker. He’d been stupid, had let his guard down, and now he was paying the price.

Alex
was paying the price.

He replayed his confrontation with the Dollmaker, looking for anything that would give him a hint of who he was and where he might be holding Alex. However, nothing presented itself. The only trace left in the wake of Alex’s abduction was the diamond ring he’d given to her last night—its chain broken.

The physical pain he could manage. He’d certainly been hurt much worse during his time as a Hunter. It was the pain of knowing the Dollmaker had Alex that made his heart ache until he felt it would explode.

Thoughts of what could possibly be happening to her crowded around him. He refused to acknowledge them, to give them weight. If he did, he would break down and become immobile. He had to keep going, had to find her, had to save her.

Ever since the attack, he’d kept the blood-bond open, hoping for some sign of life from her. The bond remained cold and empty. No welcoming warmth greeted him when he extended his thoughts in search of Alex. Not feeling the constant weight of her mind pressing against his filled him with grief and rage. Desperation gnawed at him, filled his thoughts with chaos once more.

What if she was dead?

No, she’s couldn’t be dead. He would know.

But the Dollmaker had her and could be—

Varik forced himself to focus on the door ahead of
him and not allow his imagination free rein. He refused to accept she could be taken away so easily.

Doctor Philip Hancock looked up from his notes as Varik entered the autopsy room. A gleaming bald head and thick bottle glasses that enlarged his brown eyes gave the rotund man the appearance of a startled owl. “Enforcer Baudelaire, I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon after your unfortunate encounter.”

Since taking over from Alex as the official Enforcer for Jefferson, Varik had gotten to know Doc Hancock much better after their initial frosty meeting. Doc was human but accepting of vampires, quick-witted, and a closet Lady Gaga fan, a fact Varik had discovered by accident and had since been sworn to secrecy.

Varik reached the stainless steel autopsy table and leaned against it heavily as a muscle spasm momentarily weakened his right leg. “I’m full of surprises, Doc.”

“Are you sure you should even be working?”

Varik nodded. “I have to find Alex.”

“Still no word from the son of a bitch who grabbed her?”

“No, and there won’t be. We figure he’s a collector and Alex is his prize possession.”

“Hmm, well, that may work in your favor. As long as he continues to think of her that way, he’s less likely to actually hurt her.”

“Doesn’t stop me from thinking of the ways he could though.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Varik sighed and pushed away from the table, eager to find out what Doc Hancock knew. “You got an identification on our salvage yard Jane Doe?”

“Dental records do
not
match Mindy Johnson. That’s the good news. Bad news is the forensic odontologist in Jackson
was
able to match it to a girl who’s been missing for two weeks: Vicki Pettersson.”

Varik flipped open the file the doctor handed over. Scanning the reports, he frowned. “How did a girl from Vegas end up in the trunk of a car in Jefferson, Mississippi?”

Doc Hancock slipped a new report on top of the file. “Jumped a bus and went as far as her money would take her, which was apparently here.”

“That still doesn’t explain how she got in the trunk.”

“Well, now, that’s your job, but I can tell you she had help.” Doc Hancock grunted as he slipped off the stool on which he’d been perched. His knees popped and crackled as he made his way across the room to an X-ray display panel.

Varik followed and squinted against the sudden bright illumination before focusing on the large black-and-gray photo negatives. “Are those
all
broken?”

“Poor girl’s rib cage was crushed like an egg, and look here.” Doc Hancock pointed to an X ray of a skull. “Multiple fractures of the jaw as well as at the back of the skull. Not to mention one leg and both arms were also broken.”

“So she was tortured?”

“Yes and no.” Doc Hancock switched off the display panel. “All the breaks and fractures occurred postmortem, after she was already dead.”

“Where does the torture fit in?”

He handed Varik a stack of color photos. “I found evidence of starvation and dehydration. She also had multiple lacerations around her neck, but they’re so shallow I can’t even begin to speculate the reason.”

“Only her neck?”

Doc Hancock nodded. “And I didn’t see any signs of sexual assault.”

Varik frowned as he studied the photos. Several showed long regular patches of exposed tissue. “What about these areas?”

“Those are the weird bits. They’re concentrated on her back, stomach, and legs. I saw no evidence of healing so it had to have been done after she was killed. Very precise cuts and tissue removal. Someone skinned this poor girl. My question is, Why?”

“That’s what the Dollmaker does. He uses skin from his victims to make dolls in their likenesses.”

“I’ve heard of a lot of strange things in my time, but that’s just fucked-up, as my granddaughter would say.”

Varik sighed and handed the photos back to him. “What was the official cause of death?”

“Exsanguination. Her throat was slit from ear to ear.”

An upbeat techno rhythm filled the room and Varik pulled his cell phone from its holster at his hip. He checked the caller display before answering. “Any word, Damian?”

“Not yet. Teams are still sweeping the area and fanning out into other sections of town.”

“We have to find her, Damian. Bring in more Enforcers from Jackson or Hattiesburg if you have to.”

“We’re doing everything we possibly can.”

“Doc Hancock and I are finishing up.” He glanced at the medical examiner and received a confirming nod. “I’m going to join the sweeper teams when I leave here. The bond isn’t working but maybe if I get close to her location then I can—”

“Negative,” Damian interrupted. “I need you back here as soon as you wrap up with the ME.”

Anger flared within him, hot and blinding. “What the fucking hell for? I’m not going to sit on my ass while that psycho has Alex!”

“Did I say anything about you sitting on your ass? There’s someone here you need to interview.”

“Get someone else to do it.”

“Her name is Piper Garver. She’s Mindy Johnson’s
cousin, and someone tried to kidnap her a few blocks from JPD, killed a truck driver in the process. She’s got one hell of a story, but the important part is the guy who tried to abduct her knows a vampire who likes redheads.”

Adrenaline surged through his system and melted away the pain in his legs as he sprinted from the room.

Tasha closed the door of her sedan and paused to take in the grandeur that had once been Cottonwood Plantation.

A sweeping oak-lined drive nearly half a mile long led to the multistory home that had seen better days. What had once been a simple farmhouse had been expanded over the years. Each generation of the Corman family had added their own touch to the house until it became a mishmash of various architectural styles.

The house sat on a couple of hundred acres of mixed pasture and groves. Once the plantation had grown cotton but it had switched to pecans sometime in the 1950s. Cottonwood had been well-known in southwestern Mississippi for producing some of the finest pecans in the region until Benjamin Corman died. After his passing a few years prior, the house sat vacant and fell into disrepair while the estate searched for an heir.

One had finally stepped forward and it was that heir Tasha had come to see.

She eyed the crumbling front steps and lack of hand railing but climbed the steps nonetheless. Boards creaked and bowed beneath her as she crossed the porch to the front entrance, its protective outer screen door hanging to the side by a single hinge. She knocked on the weather-beaten wooden door and waited.

A large group of crows took flight from a field adjacent to the house, startling her. The black birds cawed
and squawked to one another, flying farther out to field, and Tasha remembered reading the technical name for a flock of crows was a “murder.” She’d never understood why and seeing so many so close to a house made the hairs on the nape of her neck prickle.

She knocked on the door again. “Hello,” she called. “Anyone home?”

Only the distant call of the crows answered her.

Tasha stepped around a missing board to reach one of the windows near the door. She cupped her hands to the side of her eyes and pressed her face to the torn screen, trying to see inside.

Heavy curtains blocked her view. She tried the windows on the opposite side of the entrance and discovered their broken panes had been boarded over from the inside. Sighing, she returned to the door and knocked a final time. “Hello! I’m Lieutenant Tasha Lockwood with the Jefferson police. If you can hear me, please open the door.”

Again, no answer came from within the house.

“Shit,” she muttered. She pulled a business card from her pocket, wrote a brief note asking the homeowner to call her, and stuck it in the crack between the door and the jamb.

She retraced her steps to her car and hesitated as she opened the door. For a moment she thought she saw movement in an upstairs window. She caught sight of it again and realized it was simply drapes blowing in the breeze from an open window. She slipped behind the steering wheel and headed back to Jefferson, cursing Damian for sending her on a wild-goose chase.

Today was the second day the police had come to his door. Peter knew it would only be a matter of time before they returned. He’d hoped to have more time to
prep Alexandra before leaving this town to start their new life together but it wasn’t meant to be.

He thought of how much work he had before him. He would have to accelerate his plans to separate her from Varik. It carried a risk of damaging her beyond repair, but it was a possibility he must accept nonetheless.

Peter slowly opened the bedroom door, careful not to wake Alexandra. She was finally his to possess. He slipped into the room and crept to the side of the bed.

Her breathing remained steady and unchanged. The last rays of sunlight from the window turned her auburn hair into a blaze of deep reds, mahogany browns, and copper. Beneath closed lids, he imagined her gold-rimmed emerald eyes sought him in their rapid-dreaming movements.