Blood Work (31 page)

So, no matter
what I thought of Erin, or her legs, after tomorrow, that would be
it. She would be a footnote in my memoirs, probably a dry side
comment on the chapter about Big Red. No one would have to get
jealous. And no one would get hurt because of that jealousy.

Mercy had the
starts of some impressive bruising showing on her face, neck, arms
and legs. There was an indent in her ribs that would be mended by
tomorrow night. Her little outfit wouldn’t make it to the washing
basket though. We’d say a final prayer over the poor scraps of
material and consign them to the bin. There wasn’t anything even
big enough to turn into cleaning rags, and that would still have
been true had they not been torn to smaller pieces by the fight.
Mental note, pay more attention to what clothes Mercy buys. eBay—a
vampire tamer’s worst enemy.

“Hey, just
remembered,” I said to Roberts. “When we were in the Fringe, there
wasn’t anyone wearing anything like what Mercy was. Jeans and
tights all the way. You lied to me.”

“No, I didn’t.
It’s nearly winter, man. Fashion is seasonable. Mercy’s just a
summer girl at heart, that’s all.”

I scowled at
him.

When we got
home, Mercy dashed out of the car and inside as soon as I’d
unlocked the door. Even from outside, unloading the unused heavy
assault gear we’d believed we would desperately need at the start
of the night, I heard her slam the outer door to her room and then
crash shut the cage door.

“Wow. The
terrible twos, huh?” Roberts carefully set down a crate of garlic
bombs. Think stink bombs but with garlic. Yeah, I guess they still
were stink bombs.

“Been a while
since she hasn’t won against another vampire,” I said. Didn’t
bother to add I was sure that wasn’t the whole reason.

“So what’s
happening with Private Dick Erin?”

Just grateful
that Roberts had waited to ask after Mercy wasn’t around, I let him
have his little bit of fun.

“I’m going to
her office tomorrow for a meeting with the woman who hired Erin to
find me.”

“Who is it?
Long lost lover pining for you? Nah, even I don’t believe that. Um…
an old uncle died and sent his sexy yet repressed lawyer to find
you so she could give you what the old fart left you?”

“I wish. Don’t
know this woman at all, but apparently she thinks I stole something
from her.”

We trudged
into the garage and put the gear away.

Roberts
brushed off his hands. “Hey, you’ve done some bad shit, but I
didn’t think you were ever a thief.”

“I’m not. I’m
sure it’s just a mistake. I’ll sort it out and then it’s back to
the peace and quiet.” I began to head inside. Roberts didn’t
follow. “You coming in?”

“Nah. I’m
staying at Gale’s till this whole thing blows over. Call me if you
find anything out.”

I waved
goodbye, watched him pull out and take off. He was right. I’d never
stolen anything in my entire life. What could this Veilchen woman
want from me?

Inside, I
grabbed a bag of O pos, noted that we were almost out and went to
see Mercy. She was just putting Bad Boys into the DVD player. I
picked up the remote and turned it and the TV off. She spun around
and glared at me with silver flashing eyes.

“We’re going
to a have a talk,” I said firmly. “De-vamp, now.”

She resisted.
Bless her little heart, she tried. I glared her down and after
several blinks, her eyes went dark and her shoulders slumped. If I
was a contortionist, I would have kicked myself in the stomach. I
hated pulling that crap on her. The last thing I’d set out to do
when trying to help her after the change was go all Stockholm on
her. Sometimes, I think that’s all I was to her, a captor who’d
psychologically tortured her into thinking she loved me. And who
knows, maybe that’s all it was. Two years in and I was still out of
my depth with her, only I was doing nothing but sinking.

“Get
undressed, please. I’ll look at your wounds.”

Naked Mercy
meant little else than a physical check these days. Not so many
years ago, it would have been anything other than clinical. I did
my best not to think about that anymore.

She lay on the
bed and let me catalogue the injuries Martínez had caused. Two
broken ribs, thankfully neither had punctured a lung, several long
rents in her skin that were already starting to close and nearly
two dozen bruises that would be gone in a couple of hours.

“You’re very
lucky, young lady,” I said as she crawled into some flannelette PJs
with pink and blue unicorns on them. “Big Red could have broken you
in two.”

Her whole
response was to pull the sheets up over her head. I sighed and
pulled them down.

“Mercy, what
is your problem?”

She touched
her belly and pulled a face. We were going with mute sulkiness.
Great. Give me an honest to God toddler any day. They at least had
a real excuse.

“Eat something
that didn’t agree with you, huh? Why did you chow down on him? You
don’t like vampire blood.”

I caught her
arms in mid shrug. “Mercy, talk to me. Please.”

“I don’t like
her.”

“Erin? This
about her and not Big Red?”

She was
wrapped around me before I could blink. “Don’t leave me,” she
whispered, her voice shaking with honest fear.

Dear Lord. A
vampire with separation anxiety. I hugged her, rubbed her back.
“Mercy, you know I’ll never leave you. Erin’s just someone doing
her job, and it crossed ours for a small way, that’s all. Why do
you think she’ll make me leave you?”

Mercy held on
tight enough to make breathing a trifle hard. “You like her. I felt
your like for her today. You had dreams about her.”

Ah shit. A
symptom of the link I’d never considered before, probably because
I’d not had any such dreams since… sheesh, in a long, long
time.

Another aspect
of Mercy’s nature I’d not really wanted to think about. Little
vampires didn’t come from a mummy and daddy vampire who loved each
other very much. They had no need for sex for procreation, but it
wasn’t entirely absent from their ecology. Luring folks with sex
was a common and lucrative feeding means. I suppose I was like any
average father with a teenage daughter. If you don’t think about
her and sex at the same time, then it obviously isn’t happening and
never will, just so long as you don’t think about it.

Mercy could
ooze the sex appeal without even trying. She usually just had to
walk into the room. On a dance floor, even straight women and gay
men had to stop and stare. It’s what snagged Roberts’ attention,
way back when my control of her wasn’t so fantastic. She’d nearly
eaten him from the waist up before I found them. But since I’d
refocused her appetite on juicy plastic bags of blood instead of
juicy fleshy ones, she hadn’t shown any interest.

Or maybe I had
just not thought about it very well indeed.

Until my
subconscious and naughty little interlude with Erin.

I tugged at
Mercy’s arms and she let go reluctantly. “Is that why you dressed
the way you did tonight?”

She rolled her
eyes and let out a short, sharp sigh. “No. I dressed for
dancing.”

“Then you
don’t want to… make me dream about you?”

“Eww!”

I swear, I’d
never understand her.

“Then what’s
got your fangs in a knot?” I demanded.

Her pout was
one of the best in the world. It could make little puppies with
big, soulful brown eyes and floppy ears feel ashamed. “You went to
her and didn’t come to me.”

I had. When
Erin’s paintball had hit him, Martínez had yodelled his lungs out,
then buzzed off so fast he’d spun me around on the spot. It had
also cleared my head and the first thing I’d seen was Erin,
crumpled up, clutching her chest as if in the throes of a heart
attack. The paramedic part of me had roared to the fore and taken
control. I knew Mercy would be all right. I didn’t know that Erin
would be if she wasn’t seen to immediately.

“Knuckle
head,” I muttered and ruffled Mercy’s hair. She swiped my hand away
and fixed her curls. “She’s only human. You’re the Mercinator.
You’ll always be back.”

Mercy stared
at me, her tongue in one cheek. She wasn’t buying it, but at least
she wasn’t shaking with dread anymore. Anything, even weary
condescension, was better than that.

“Can I watch
my movie now?”

“Sure, just
keep the sound down. I want to catch a snooze while its dark out.
Pretend to be a normal guy for a bit.” I dangled the now warmed
blood in front of her. “Want a midnight snack?”

She just
grabbed the remote and turned on the TV.

“Fine.” I
began to get up. Before my arse had even stopped touching the bed,
the bag was out of my hand and under the sheets with Mercy. “Just
don’t spill any this time. Goodnight.”

There may have
been a muffled reply, or it could have been slurping.

I locked the
cage on my way out. Not before hesitating though. Tonight had done
much to appease my fears, and I had never meant to keep her locked
up forever. But old habits die really, really hard.

I grabbed a
quick shower before flopping onto my bed. My knee was swollen but I
didn’t feel it. Mercy’s compulsion was something else this time.
Trying not to think about what would happen when it wore off, I
drifted off to sleep.

I didn’t dream
about Erin. I had nightmares about Big Red instead.

“Why are we doing this?” Ivan asked
as Erin turned on her computer.

Ivan and Brad
had taken her back to their place the night before. She’d collapsed
on their spare bed and been comatose for eight hours. Waking up,
her head had been filled with the unshakable notion she didn’t know
enough about Matt Hawkins and Night Call. He had got to her. There
was still so much she didn’t know about him, so much that could
explain him, and what had happened outside the Fringe Bar. She’d
told the boys the bare bones of what had happened; Martin
approached her, claimed to know about Night Call and she’d gone
outside with him. He’d grabbed her and used her as a hostage to
lure Hawkins down the side street, they’d fought, Martin had run
away and Hawkins had agreed to come in to the office.

She had
dragged Ivan in on the pretence he had to help her get ready for
the meeting. His presence had never been required before, so he
knew something was up.

“Because I
don’t like Mrs Veilchen’s attitude. And Hawkins claims he doesn’t
know her. Something’s not quite meshing here. I want to find out
anything I can before the meeting.”

“Which is in
two hours,” he pointed out needlessly. “What can we find out in
that time?”

“Tell me about
this Mercy Belique person. She was with him last night.”

Ivan groaned.
“I told you everything last night. She was a singer for this band.
The band broke up, she wasn’t seen around for a long time. What
more is there to know?”

“Why she’s
with Hawkins for a start.”

“Because he’s
a really lucky guy? I don’t know why!”

Erin waved at
his computer in the outer office. “That’s why they call it
investigating. Go, investigate.”

Grumbling all
the way, Ivan trudged out to his desk and slumped down. He tapped
listlessly at the keyboard, sneaking looks over his shoulder at
her.

She’d scared
him last night. Brad had told her that morning while Ivan showered.
He’d been frantic when Erin hadn’t returned from the toilets. Erin
was genuinely flattered. She and Ivan had been working together for
six months, long enough for them to be comfortable with each other
but she hadn’t really thought their relationship had progressed
that far beyond the office. Erin truly liked him. She’d kill before
letting someone hurt him.

Leaving Ivan
to his own devices, Erin called the Mentis Institute. It felt like
years since she’d been talking to James Douglass at Redcliffe. So
much had happened that it felt like a backwards step to dig into
this now. But the nagging feeling of not knowing something
important was too annoying. She couldn’t just let this case go. It
would officially be over at noon, but that wasn’t good enough. He
would come in, meet with Veilchen—who’d agreed to the meeting with
chilly eagerness—sort out whatever it was all about and walk out.
That would be it. Over. Finished.

Except it
wasn’t. She had most of his history but none of it told her why he
was so determined to hide, why he roamed about with a petite singer
who could move like the wind, why he could hold his own against a
man nearly twice his size, a man who could also move with lightning
reflexes and inhuman speed.

Inhuman.

The image of
the drive-by shooter’s face came back to her. Now that had been
inhuman.

Werewolves…

“Hello?”

Erin jumped.
She’d forgotten about the phone pressed to her ear. “I’m sorry,”
she said, hauling in a deep breath to ease her racing heart. “I was
miles away.” She introduced herself and explained her case. “I
understand the patient was transferred to your unit. Are you able
to help me find out some more information about her?”

The woman on
the other end of the phone barked a harsh laugh. “That’s
confidential information. No, I can’t help you out.”

“I understand
that, but I was just hoping you could—”

“Break the law
for you? I don’t think so. Thank you for calling.” The line went
dead.

“Bitch.” Erin
slammed the phone down. Then she did something she didn’t want to
do. She dialled the number and when it was answered, asked for
Detective Courey.

“Courey,” he
growled when he picked up.

“Detective,”
Erin said as brightly as she could. “Erin McRea here. How are
you?”

“As clueless
as I was the other day. Haven’t got anything more to tell you about
the Hawkins drive-by. Thanks for calling.”