Dead Sexy (5 page)

Santiago nodded. "If you wish."

He closed her door, then watched her drive away. He would see her again, he thought, and soon. Even if he had to make something up.

The vampire murders made headlines in all the newspapers the following day, and became the top story on the nightly news.

By the end of the week, the chief of police had declared that there was a serial killer on the loose and advised people to remain in their homes after dark. To date, eight bodies had been found inside the park, all of them brutally mutilated. For the public's safety, the mayor closed the park to all human traffic until further notice.

Various anti-vampire groups that had been silent up until now began demanding that the vampires be destroyed once and for all, while the bleeding hearts argued that anyone foolish enough to stroll in the park after sundown knew the risks involved and deserved whatever they got. The public demanded that something be done before it was too late.

At the beginning of the second week, Joaquin Santiago appeared on the eleven o'clock news. He expressed his sympathy to the bereaved and assured the city's nervous populace that none of the vampires that resided inside You Bet Your Life Park were responsible for the murders.

Sitting on the sofa at home, Regan listened to the telecast with interest, thinking that the master of the city was not only extremely handsome but was as tactful as any D.C. politician, as well. Obviously wary of adding fuel to the fire of panic growing in the streets, he hadn't mentioned his belief that a werewolf was responsible for the murders. No one would have believed him anyway, Regan thought, since everyone knew that werewolves were extinct. But then, people also believed that vampires couldn't leave You Bet Your Life Park, or the other complexes like it around the country, when she knew from firsthand experience that at least one of them was completely unaffected by the force field.

Leaning back against the sofa, she switched off the Satellite Screen. Vampires, werewolves, and murder, oh my. She had visited all the recent crime scenes and although she had not seen Santiago at any of them, she had been aware of his presence nearby. She was vaguely disappointed that he hadn't called her and annoyed with herself for feeling that way. Life was complicated enough without adding a vampire to the mix, especially a vampire like Joaquin Santiago.

Going into the kitchen, she pulled a can of soda from the fridge. The only good thing about the recent murders was that she was again on the police payroll, although it seemed wrong somehow to profit by the suffering of others. Still, the Department had asked for her expertise, such as it was.

Carrying the soda, Regan went back into the living room, switched on her computer, and did a Google search for werewolves. If it turned out that Santiago was right and the killer was a werewolf, then she wanted to know what she was up against. As far as she knew, there weren't any werewolf hunters in the city, which meant the job was wide open, and she was as qualified as anyone else, maybe more so.

She was about to shut down her computer and get ready for bed when the phone rang. She stared at it a moment and then, grimacing, she picked it up. Lately, whenever the phone rang, it was bad news. Tonight was no different.

"Our killer's struck again," Flynn said.

"Same M.O.?" she asked, reaching for her shoes.

"Looks like it."

"Okay, I'll be right there."

"It isn't at the park."

"Where is it?"

"Uptown, behind the high school."

Regan's hand tightened on the phone. "I'll be there in ten minutes," she said, and disconnected the call.

Behind the high school
. Nausea roiled in her stomach as she slid behind the wheel of her car and drove uptown.
Not kids
, she thought.
Please, not kids
.

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled up behind Flynn's patrol car, which was parked at the curb next to the football field. While alighting from her car, she noted that the M.E.'s van was also there. Taking a deep breath, she cut across a corner of the football field, her shoes squishing in the damp grass. She passed a couple of police officers as she made her way to the storm drain located in a ravine behind the field.

The crime scene had been cordoned off with yellow tape. A number of uniformed police stood at the top of the ravine, looking down. She could see the M.E. kneeling on the ground beside the storm drain. The forensic team was bagging evidence, their voices low.

Moving carefully, Regan made her way down the slippery slope toward the M.E. She felt a wave of sympathy for a young cop who looked like he was about to lose his dinner. With a reassuring smile, she hurried forward so she wouldn't be a witness if he suddenly lost it.

Regan nodded to a few of the officers she knew, her steps slowing as she reached the crime scene. The bodies were sprawled in the dirt. The girl, clad in the bloody remains of a green polka-dot sundress and white sandals, looked like she was sixteen or seventeen. Her long, dark hair was tied back in a ponytail. The body of a young man wearing a mud-and-blood splattered white shirt and a pair of dark trousers lay facedown beside her. Both bodies had been mutilated. Both had been drained of blood.

"According to the M.E., they've been dead about four hours," Flynn said, coming up behind her. "The girl's mother said her daughter went to a movie with her boyfriend. She was supposed to be home by ten. When she wasn't home by midnight, the mother got worried. She called the boyfriend's house but his folks hadn't heard from him. What with the recent killings making headlines, the girl's mother called the police."

"What made them look here?"

Flynn jerked his head toward where a tall, skinny young man stood, a dog the size of a pony at his side.

"The dog found the bodies. The kid called nine-one-one."

Regan nodded.

Flynn swore, something he rarely did in Regan's presence. "We've got big trouble."

"More than this?" Regan stared at the girl's body, her stomach roiling. It was bad enough when this kind of thing happened to adults, but children… Regan crossed her arms over her stomach. The girl should be home with her parents, arguing about doing her homework or gossiping on the phone with her best friend. She shouldn't be a crime statistic.

"Think about it," Flynn said. "These killings didn't take place inside the park like the others…"

"Which means we've got a vampire that can cross the force field," Regan said, finishing his thought for him.

"Right."

Regan nodded. If this was, indeed, a vampire killing, then there were at least two vampires who could cross the force field: the killer and Joaquin Santiago. Unless they were one and the same… She thrust the thought from her mind.

"Maybe it isn't a vampire," Regan said, thinking aloud.

Flynn looked at her, his brow furrowed. "What else could it be?"

"I don't know. Maybe a copycat killer," she suggested, while a little voice inside her mind whispered
werewolf
. Legend said werewolves ate flesh. They didn't drink blood. Santiago had to be wrong. This had to be the work of a rogue vampire, one who drained his victims and then mutilated the bodies, perhaps to make the police think they had a serial killer on their hands instead of a vampire who was able to cross the force field. Either that, or the killer really was a madman, one who liked to collect blood and body parts. Or maybe the killer was some kind of Satanist who used the blood and internal organs in rituals of dark magic.

"Listen, I'll talk to you later," Flynn said. "I told the captain I'd call him and bring him up to speed."

"All right."

Regan was still contemplating who or what besides a vampire might have killed the teenagers when a warm tingle suffused her. She didn't have to turn around to know that Santiago was standing behind her.

"They're so young," she murmured. "So young to die such a terrible death."

She glanced up at Santiago, surprised by the sorrow she saw in the depths of his eyes. She had always believed vampires were past feeling human emotions, that the capacity for love and compassion and grief died along with their mortality.

"Is this the work of the werewolf?" she asked as he came to stand beside her.

"Is this between you and me?" he asked quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"I do not wish you to repeat what I tell you to anyone else."

"If you have information on who the murderer is, it needs to be reported," she said adamantly. "We've got to stop this maniac before he kills again."

"Then I cannot help you."

"It was a vampire, wasn't it? And you don't want anyone to know."

"I know who did this and I will deal with him in my own way."

"So, it is a vampire." It wasn't a question this time. She studied the two bodies, focusing on the wounds and not the horror reflected on the faces of the victims. "How can you tell? They look the same as the others."

"If you tell the police I told you a vampire did this, I will deny it," he said curtly.

"So now we have two killers running around," Regan muttered. "That's great, just great." She turned away as the M.E. shook out a body bag.

"This one will not be running around for long."

Regan stared at Santiago. He was the only vampire she knew of who could cross the force field. For the second time that night, she wondered if he was the one responsible for the horrendous killings.

He met her gaze, his eyes narrowing ominously. "You think I did this?"

"Did you?"

"Would I be here if I had?"

"But it was a vampire, wasn't it? What about the other murders?" she asked, frowning. "Were they the work of the werewolf or the vampire?"

"The three I told you about were killed by a vampire. I knew he was powerful. I did not realize he was powerful enough to ignore the force field."

"Why didn't you tell me this before."

"He was not killing children before."

Regan massaged her temple with her fingertips. She could feel a headache coming on. "How do you know it was a vampire who did this and not the werewolf? Did you smell the vampire's scent, too?"

"I cannot tell you all my secrets, Regan Delaney," he replied with a wry grin, "but after tonight, the one who did this will no longer be a threat to your kind, or mine."

The vampire paused at the edge of the lake, his preternatural senses testing the night air. He had fed earlier, and fed well, but lately the hunger would not be appeased.

He glanced at the burlap bag in his hand, then flung the bag and its contents into the center of the lake, watching impassively as the blood-crusted organs floated on the water before slowly sinking out of sight.

He didn't know who was killing the people inside You Bet Your Life Park, and he didn't care. It provided the perfect cover for his own crimes, although he found ripping out hearts and livers a rather nasty business.

He grunted softly. He didn't know why he found it so odious. He had done far worse things without a qualm.

Turning away from the lake, he walked down the narrow, twisting path that led to the street and the park beyond. It amused him to know that the foolish mortals believed the vampires were confined to the park. Of course, it was true that most of the
Undead couldn't cross the force field—but he wasn't one of them.