High Stakes (9 page)

I put the lid back on, making sure it’s tightly shut, then close my fingers over the vial and squeeze it. I still have a few weeks left.

Kimchi pads up and whines. I rub his head in reassurance then smack my forehead in self-disgust as I remember I need to get him some food. Cursing, I replace the vial in its hiding spot and head downstairs. Dawn is too close; I’ll have to prevail upon Connor’s goodwill yet again. I don’t deserve a friend like him.

I’ve barely closed the door behind me when I hear loud remonstrations and a familiar, disgusted voice coming from the New Order office. Frowning, I jog down the stairs. Foxworthy is standing over Connor, demanding to know where I am. Sensibly, Matt has vanished; even though Foxworthy is human, Matt would still be forced to do whatever was asked of him – including telling the good officer my whereabouts. I can do that myself.

I clear my throat, causing Foxworthy to spin round in mid-sentence. When he catches sight of me, he marches up, grabbing my t-shirt and throwing me against the wall. It doesn’t hurt but I’m still pissed off.

‘What the hell? What’s wrong with you?’

‘Like you don’t know,’ he snarls.

I scan his face. Fatigue is etched into every line and wrinkle of his weathered skin, but his eyes are alight with fury.

I’m more puzzled than anything. ‘No,’ I say softly, ‘I don’t.’

‘Pleading ignorance isn’t going to help. I should have stuck to my gut. You can’t trust a bloodguzzler, no matter what pretty things they say.’

‘Inspector, I still don’t know what’s wrong.’

‘Here.’ He thrusts a newspaper in my face. ‘Evidence of your fucking handiwork.’

I focus on the headline. It’s today’s early edition. When the words sink in, my stomach drops and I close my eyes.

‘You just couldn’t keep your big trap shut, could you? You had to go blabbing.’

‘It wasn’t me.’ I open my eyes and stare at the big man.

‘Yeah? Who else knew this?’ He waves the paper. ‘“Park Rape Vic Is Hooker”. It even states that their source is someone from one of the Families.’

If Foxworthy had a gun, he’d probably shoot me. He’s blindingly angry. I don’t blame him. ‘I’m telling you, it wasn’t me,’ I insist.

‘Nobody else outside the investigating team knew she was a prostitute. And I can damn well tell you the leak didn’t come from us.’ His face moves down to mine, until it’s so close that I can feel his breath on my skin. ‘I told you we’d release the info that the bloodguzzlers weren’t involved. The press conference is scheduled for ten. You couldn’t even wait a few fucking hours?’

My whole body is tense but I make myself stay where I am. I don’t want Foxworthy to be my enemy; we need a friend in the police. I meet his angry stare. ‘Even if it was a vampire who leaked, it says the source is the Families. I’m not part of a Family. You know that. It couldn’t have been me.’

‘Do you think that makes a difference? If you didn’t speak to the paper, then you spoke to someone from the Families who did. You’re all the same.’ He throws the newspaper in my face. ‘Corinne Matheson has just gone from being a helpless rape victim to someone who can’t be trusted and who was probably asking for it. Six hours ago there were a hundred officers working this case. Ninety per cent have been pulled off the case because public opinion rules everything we do. And public opinion will be that she’s not worth it any more.’ He lowers his tone but he’s no less angry. ‘She’s a human being, a person who deserves justice. But now the entire investigation has been derailed and it’s your fault. The guy who did this? He’s not the type to do it once and then forget about it. He’s going to try again. Next time he’ll probably get lucky and kill whoever he abducts. Congratulations. You’ve just signed some poor girl’s death warrant.’ He gives me one last, disgusted look then stalks out.

Connor has backed away to the wall, his skin pale and his freckles standing out in sharp relief. ‘Bo, you didn’t do that, did you? Talk to the newspapers?’

I shake my head. ‘No. I know who fucking did though.’

His eyes are wide. ‘Who?’

‘It’s probably better for you if you don’t know. Go home, Connor. Get some rest.’

He watches me for a second or two then nods. ‘Okay. Will you be alright?’

For a moment, I’m so caught up in the maelstrom of my own thoughts that I don’t respond.

‘Bo?’ he prompts.

I give him a smile. It’s so forced that it’s almost painful. Fortunately it’s enough for Connor and he grabs his things and leaves. I wait until he’s gone, then pick up the phone, not even bothering to wait for the receptionist to answer.

‘Tell Lord Montserrat that Bo Blackman needs to see him at his earliest convenience,’ I snap and slam down the receiver.

*

I’m lying in bed with the duvet over my head, trying to catch some sleep, when I hear him enter. Michael Montserrat is a powerful vampire; usually if he doesn’t want to be heard, he won’t be. He wasn’t counting on Kimchi, though, who barks enthusiastically at his arrival. The poor dog is probably hoping for food. After sending Connor on his way, I was forced to raid the office fridge for some cold cuts to feed Kimchi. I am no longer surprised that the dog is chewing everything in sight.

I flip back the cover and sit up just as Michael’s muscular frame fills the doorway. I’m fully dressed: there is no way I’m going to have another confrontation in my pyjamas.

‘Is everything alright?’ he enquires solicitously.

A chink of daylight peeks out from under one of the blackout blinds but I really don’t care. I stride over to him, in a fashion not unlike Foxworthy’s. I don’t try to push him against the wall, however; I simply slap him as hard as I can across his cheek. The sound cracks loudly across the small room.

He’s more surprised than hurt. ‘What the hell was that for?’

‘Corinne Matheson.’ I search his face. ‘Why the fuck did you do it, Michael? Why did you go to the press?’

He doesn’t even try to deny it. He draws himself up, shoulders straightening, and glares. ‘I’m Lord of the Montserrat Family. I don’t have to explain myself to you.’

Kimchi, sensing the tension, begins to growl from the other room.

‘I represent New Order, remember? The agency designed to smooth out problems between the humans and the vampires. The one that
you
set up.’ I put my hands on my hips. ‘Or do you think you should be immune from anything we do? Because you’re Lord Sodding Montserrat? Mr High and Mighty? Better than anyone else?’

‘Bo, what on earth has gotten into you?’ He seems baffled.

My lip curls. Fury snakes through my body and I realise I’m trembling. ‘You’re a bastard.’

He stares at me for a long moment then the corner of his mouth crooks upwards. ‘You’re pretty sexy when you’re angry.’

I snarl and take a step backwards, jabbing a finger at his chest. ‘If you’re treating this as some kind of booty call, then you are so mistaken.’ I can’t believe he’s being so flippant.

His humour vanishes and he holds up his palms. ‘If I’ve misjudged this situation I apologise but I’ve not done anything wrong.’

My voice drops to a whisper. ‘You’re not naïve. You’ve been around for long enough to know what’ll happen to Corinne now everyone knows she’s a prostitute.’

‘Bo, I’m not responsible for how she chooses to live her life.’

‘You didn’t have to tell the world about it though.’

‘Yes, I did.’ He nods. ‘You’re right: I knew she’d be vilified. But she was lying. At a time when we need public opinion on our side, she was lying through her teeth and making us out to be villains.’ He takes a step forward. ‘Us, Bo. You’re a vampire too.’

‘She had her reasons,’ I spit. ‘Besides, the police had already established it wasn’t a vampire who raped her. They were going to release a statement today.’

He shrugs. ‘I wasn’t to know that.’

‘You could have spoken to me about it first.’

‘I don’t need your permission to act.’

‘Because you’re Lord Montserrat?’ I sneer.

‘Yes,’ he replies. ‘Because I am.’

I shake my head. ‘Does being Lord Montserrat include having carte blanche to execute whoever gets in your way?’

Confusion clouds his face. ‘What do you mean?’

Anger guides my actions. I turn my back and reach down to the bed, flipping over the mattress. The photo of him and Medici standing over the corpses and grinning is at the far corner. I yank it out and shove it in his face. ‘This is you, isn’t it?’ I demand. ‘The kind of person who beheads someone in the street and treats it like a big joke. Look at you! And since when was Medici your partner in crime?’

His face is white. He takes the photo from me and studies it for a moment. ‘Where did you get this from?’

‘Does it matter?’

His expression turns to granite. ‘Tell me, Bo.’

‘Or what?’ I taunt. ‘You’ll go to the papers about me, too? Or perhaps you’ll decide I’m too much of a thorn in your side so you’ll…’

He grabs my shoulders, pulling me towards him. ‘You go too far.’

I stare at him. ‘Oh, I don’t think I’m going far enough. I liked you, Michael. Even after you turned me when you knew it was last thing I wanted, I still liked you.’ I burn my last bridge. ‘Get out. And don’t ever come near me again.’

He looks like he wants to say something but instead he turns on his heel and strides out, leaving nothing behind other than the lingering scent of his aftershave and a faint whine from Kimchi.

I remain where I am, standing alone, wondering if I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life.

*

Once it’s dark again, I venture out. I don’t bother checking in at the office on my way down and, even though the door is open and my grandfather and Arzo are in view, neither of them calls out to me. The walls around here are pretty thin. Chances are Arzo and Peter heard every single word between me and Michael and it’s now common knowledge. Whatever the reason is for them leaving me in peace, I’m thankful for it. Even Kimchi, by my side on a makeshift lead made out of ribbon, is quiet.

I ignore the pitiful gaggle of protestors who are no doubt disappointed that I’m not still in police custody and sweep past as if they’re invisible. I don’t give them time to react to my appearance – which is just as well because I’m not sure my mood lends itself to responsible action.

The little shop at the end of the street is still open. Unfortunately, due to our proximity to the tourist hub of the area, it uses its spare shelf space for cheap London knick-knacks rather than anything useful like dog food. I heave a sigh and leave, heading for the supermarket a few blocks away. I walk with my head down, hoping, just for once, for a quiet life. It would probably be easier to manage if Kimchi didn’t insist on sniffing every standing object and occasionally cocking his leg to mark his territory. At least he seems happy to be out, his tail wagging vigorously as we stroll along.

Once we reach the supermarket, I tie him to a lamppost. He immediately starts gnawing it. I’m watching him, idly wondering whether the council will be able trace the teeth marks in the metal and will send me a bill, when I catch something odd out of the corner of my eye. There’s definitely a nip in the air but the weather is still unseasonably warm for October. Most people are wearing light jackets, so the figure shuffling along the far side of the street in the huge winter overcoat, furry hat and with a woollen scarf covering his face stands out like a sore thumb. I glance down at Kimchi, who is still fascinated by the lamppost. I’m not going to get distracted again. I’ll get the dog food first.

I grab a basket and weave down the aisles until I reach the one I want. I grab several tins of ‘Choice Venison Stew’. It’s pricey but, given the rubbish I’ve fed Kimchi so far, the least I can do is treat him to a slap-up dinner. I throw in some bone-shaped chews and make my way to the checkout.

Mr Overcoat darts in, moving behind a display of Halloween-themed goodies. I’m tempted to confront him but I spot the besuited shop manager appearing beside the till as if to protect either the pimply teenager manning it – or the money inside it – from me. I’m betting it’s the latter. I shrug and head over. The teen won’t even look at me. His cheeks are a vivid shade of red and he mumbles the amount I owe. I hand over the money and he snatches it quickly, shoving it into the till. He holds out the receipt, his fingers shaking.

I put him out of his misery and politely decline it. I do, however, glance up at the manager. ‘Thanks! Your store is great. I need to check on my dog outside but it would be great if you could remind my friend over there to pick up some pepper too.’ I wink. ‘It really makes the blood taste so much better.’

To give the manager his due, he answers steadily, ‘Where’s your friend?’

I point vaguely towards the Halloween display. ‘He’s over there somewhere. You can’t miss him – he’s bundled up like it’s a winter’s day.’ I beam sunnily then stroll out, whistling.

Less than thirty seconds later, a figure is propelled out at warp speed. I wait.

‘Bo!’ The whine is familiar. ‘That wasn’t funny!’

I squint. ‘O’Shea?’

He pulls down his scarf and grins. ‘Of course! I’m in disguise.’

‘Not a very good one,’ I grunt, bending down to free Kimchi. The dog pants then, without warning, leaps at the daemon.

O’Shea laughs nervously and backs away. ‘Dog saliva brings me out in hives,’ he complains.

I regard him speculatively. ‘Either that or you’re afraid of tubby dogs.’

‘He does have a bit of belly, doesn’t he?’

I raise my eyebrows. ‘That’ll be all the daemon meat.’ O’Shea takes another step back. ‘I’m joking,’ I say, exasperated. ‘Why are you hiding from me, O’Shea? I’m not really in the mood for your shenanigans.’

‘Oh, I’m not hiding from you.’ He waves an airy hand in front of his face.

Against my better nature, I take the bait. ‘Then who are you waiting for?’

‘From us,’ a gruff voice says. I look across, just in time to see one of two sharply dressed Agathos daemons raise a gun in my direction.

Chapter Eight: Underground Action

For a split second, time freezes. The bright, welcoming lights of the supermarket dim and the cars on the road appear to slow. Then I spring into action.