Immortal Distraction (6 page)

When she sank into sleep shortly thereafter, she crashed hard. Her body was so damn tired, and he’d put her through more paces than any man ever had with nothing more than his voice. She dreamed of him. His amazing blue eyes, his dark hair, his strong and powerful body. She had no idea what he looked like without clothes, but he was doubtless stunning.

When Brit woke the next morning, she started coffee before retreating to her bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror, wondering who the hell she was looking at. Her hair was effortless, thank God for small favors, but her eyes had dark circles under them and were going to need some work to look awake. Brit was thirty-two, and her skin still looked youthful, but her paleness and darkened eyes left her looking ghostly.

When Brit caught the large bruise on her elbow, she laughed an odd and deranged-sounding laugh. She was blushing with nothing more than the memory of his words, his touch, his mouth. She shouldn’t have elbowed him in the jaw. It was excessive force to be sure, but she was laughing and flushing in an odd, embarrassed way regardless.

Brit quickly brushed some lip gloss over her lips, some blush on her cheeks that she hoped would make her look alive, and she filled her coffee mug for the road. It would be another long day of running down leads, getting nowhere fast, and if she was lucky, she’d get through the day without meeting a new dead body.

Chapter 6

He wanted to see her… Desperately. What he did not want was for her to send some pathetic uniform cop who could barely figure out how to tuck his shirt in to bring him in for questioning a few days later. She was going to annoy him. He was well aware of that fact, but he just didn’t give a shit. He still wanted to see her. The phone-sex fiasco left him craving their next meeting far more than he’d expected.

Angus had wondered if perhaps his desire would cool after getting his rocks off with her … even if only by phone. But quite the opposite, he’d been left imagining her eyes. Seeing them again. Hearing her excited and nervous heartbeat. Her smell. Inhaling the scent of her arousal. He’d have welcomed her handcuffs on his wrists if she’d of had the decency to bring them herself. Instead, it was Officer Brandt standing in front of him, requesting oh so nicely that he come to the precinct for questioning. Nothing formal, just a nice request from Boston PD.

No handcuffs were required, thank God, and walking into the District E13 station in Jamaica Plain, he was damn near nervous. Angus wasn’t prone to nerves, and while he knew well enough he was treading, quite literally, into dangerous territory, it wasn’t what had him so on edge. It was her. She was as much a distraction to him as he was trying to be to her, and he had the unnerving feeling he wouldn’t be walking away from this distraction regardless of the risk she posed to him. He felt oddly out of control with her. And it was the most enjoyable sensation he’d experienced in longer than he could recall.

Angus was a calm man. Had been even before his transition over five hundred years in the past. It was why he was so effective at toying with the high-strung detective. But she had him rattled. He may not show it outwardly, but he didn’t like that he craved her so intensely. She was human, and he wasn’t lying when he’d said he wasn’t Truman. Truman was more than prepared to love a mortal before Ember had transitioned. Angus had no interest in falling for a mortal woman. As a vampire, he’d never even fucked a mortal, just wasn’t willing to cross that line. But what started out as a means to interfere in her investigation was turning into a bit of an infatuation. And he didn’t like it … and yet he wanted it regardless.

When she rounded the corner from a hallway carrying a file folder in her hand, she stopped the moment she saw him. They were standing ten feet apart, and she just stared. And that’s what he had been craving. That first look. The first look after having shared something forbidden and hot. His heart was pounding just at the sight of her beautiful golden-brown eyes and slightly parted lips. Her cheeks were flushing scarlet against her pale and pristine skin. And in that moment, he felt just as human as she. His heart was lurching, his groin was aching, and his jaw was ready to let loose his fangs. This is what he’d been wanting so very much since three nights previous when he’d made himself come with images of her dancing through his mind.

She took a steadying breath; he kept his focus trained on her. The world seemed to stand still for a moment as they stared at one another, and in that moment, he knew without a shadow of a doubt, he was going to keep risking himself with her. There was no stopping it. He had to keep her away from their secret, but he certainly wouldn’t be keeping away from her.

“Detective Sutton. Where you want him?” The officer with his sloppy uniform and cheesy smile.

“Uh… How ’bout interview room two? See it’s open and then put him in there. I’ll … uh … be in in a minute.” This last seemed to be spoken to him, and he nodded in response as she turned and walked away.

The room was sparse and sterile with painted cinder-block walls that were the most bland shade of off-white. He sat and waited. The officer left him, and it was only minutes later that she entered alone. Of course, given the two-way mirrored window, “alone” was a fairly subjective term.

“It’s nice to see you again, Brit.” He didn’t wait for her to speak.

“Detective.” She said nothing else as she approached the table and sat down. She still carried the file folder, and as she opened it, she pulled out a large color photo marred in red. It was streaked, and slashes of red cut across the page in angry and ugly lines. It was interrupted only with the deadpan stare of open and unreactive eyes that registered nothing at all.

“Well isn’t he or she quite the mess. Care to tell me why you’re showing me this?” The body on the page had been obliterated, and while Angus himself took life to sustain his own, this was not what death looked like to him. He, like all of his kind, were prohibited from killing innocents, and like Truman, he chose to go after the worst of the worst. He preferred serial killers and serial rapists—those with an undeterrable drive to kill and harm, but even he failed to understand the violence that was playing out in the picture on the table.

“You really want to protect the man who did this?” It was a look near disappointment that flashed across her face. She wanted him to be better than this, and he was, but there was no way to get her to see it. He had no choice but to protect Driscoll, and while he couldn’t fathom what kind of vampire saw need to use this level of violence, it changed nothing. And it left his insides aching. He was also quite livid that he was in the unenviable position of defending a man not worthy of his time from this woman who was very worthy of his time … among other things.

He stared at the picture, feeling ashamed and completely off-kilter. “No. But what I want to do and what I must do don’t always coincide.” His words were quiet, and he sounded nothing like himself as he said them. “I’m sorry, Brit.” She shook her head.

“I’m going to ask you again. Do you know where Driscoll DeMarco is?” She watched him. Her face was harsh and well controlled. This was her element, and she was powerful in her world.

“You’re not going to believe the answer I tell you regardless of what I say. My answer is no. Take it for what it’s worth.”

“I’m inclined to say it’s worth nothing.” She looked exasperated, and he resented the look of disappointment in her eyes.

“Would you feel better if I took a lie-detector test?” He smirked. He was trying to lighten her mood, though he knew it was likely impossible. The memory, feeling, and absolute arousal of three nights before was slipping away by the second, being replaced by this.

“I would actually. I’ll set it up and let you know when and where.” She said nothing more before standing to leave.

“When did you find him? The body I mean.”

“Why don’t you just ask Driscoll when he dumped it? And it’s a her by the way. A nineteen-year-old young woman, not that you’d know by looking at the body.” And then she was gone.

Chapter 7

When Brit entered her townhouse that evening she sacked out on the couch before even eating. Brit didn’t use her landline any more than any other normal person did, so she ignored it more often than not. The landline was saved for telemarketers and people she didn’t truly want to speak to. But when her mother called in a drunken stupor to sob about what a retched parent she’d been and how the world would be better off without her, Brit finally picked up after listening to the old answering machine for the better part of a minute. This conversation would definitely require a glass of wine. And as she stood in her kitchen, stripping out of the clothes she hadn’t bothered removing when she’d lain down on the couch, she poured a rather generous glass.

Brit sleepily staggered to her room and slipped into sweats and a T-shirt as her mother continued to drivel on. It was only after three glasses of wine, the longest damn conversation she’d ever had with her mother, and nearly falling asleep on her bed while her mother whined, that Brit finally found some peace and was able to end the call.

Brit knew there was nothing to be ashamed of at this point in her life in regards to her family. The logical, adult part of her brain knew that, and yet… Every time she ended a call it was the first emotion she felt. She could hear the kids taunting and hurling insult after insult at her. And she felt ashamed. Then she felt guilty. She didn’t want to be ashamed of her parents. She couldn’t stand them, but she loved them, she hurt for them, she was sad for them … but still, she was ashamed, and she resented them. Brit had mastered her emotions as well as anyone could, but when it came to them, she fell apart and suddenly felt pathetic and stupid. She felt like a child of fourteen all over again.

Brit woke the next morning with a mild hangover, but fortunately, dispatch had let her sleep all night long, and she felt as close to rested as she had in a long time. She could hear her cell phone ringing in the other room, and when she finally reached it, it was the polygrapher. Fuck. Brit was feeling just as pathetic and childish as she had the night before. It was the aftereffect of speaking with her mother and dealing with the ghosts of her past, and now this.

She would have to see Angus, talk to him about the polygrapher, and while the part of her brain she wanted to kick and tell to shut up was relishing the idea, the part that was still feeling vulnerable was terrified.

* * * *

When she came knocking a couple days after his rather coerced meeting with her at the precinct, his heart sped for a moment, his teeth protracted painfully into his mouth, and he was practically salivating as he waited for her to make her way to his residence. Thank God he and Truman had hunted the night before or she might really be in trouble. This one made him hungry. Her scent made him want her, crave her, need her, thirst for her, but he’d never hurt her. It would destroy him to hurt one so innocent, but God his body wanted to bite her, taste her.

As he pulled the door open, he watched her coolly. Her heart sped just as his did when she met his eyes, and there was a furious blush on her cheeks. But she looked away from him quickly. He had come to expect her to hold his gaze no matter what, but she was as off-kilter as he was. Every moment their eyes would meet, she would look away. He stood aside and allowed her to enter. She walked past him, and he turned to inhale her scent as she passed him.

Her jaw was usually tight, her posture controlled, but today she looked nervous, vulnerable. He liked her vulnerability plenty; hell, he just plain liked her. But he didn’t enjoy seeing her this nervous with him. This nervous left him wanting to comfort her and touch her, but he couldn’t do either—lest he invite her knee to his groin. Or maybe just another elbow to his jaw.

When she rounded to face him, she glanced past him and bit her lip. She looked incredible again, and her scent was so intoxicating that he had flashes of himself biting her—fucking her and biting her all at once. She stared at his chest and refused to meet his eyes.

“The polygraph’s been scheduled for the day after tomorrow. Four in the afternoon. Are you available?” He studied her, waiting for her to look at him. Of course he was available, but he had no intention of responding to her until she had the gall to look at him. She owed him at least that much. He didn’t need her to tell him he’d given her one hell of an orgasm the other night. Their first meeting in the precinct made it clear enough. The least she could do was look at him.

She was breathing deeply, still staring at his chest. He watched her chest rise and fall, and when she swallowed over a lump in her throat and her brow furrowed, he reached to her shoulder. He shouldn’t, but something about her demeanor was just begging for his touch. It did the trick and she looked up to him. The furrow in her brow remained, but as he watched, her features tightened, her jaw clenched, and she shook her head just slightly. “Well?”

“On one condition.” He watched her. He knew it would piss her off, but he didn’t care. It served no purpose of his at all if there wasn’t a benefit to him of some sort or another. She scowled at his comment and he smirked.

“You didn’t say anything about a condition.” The scowl remained firmly in place.

“Oh it’s not much of a condition. Dinner and conversation. That’s all. Nothing more … unless you want more and are willing to ask for it.” He was going for seductive, and while her expression gave nothing away, the subtle, delicious scent of her arousal that hit his senses told him he was right on the money.

“And that’s it? Dinner and conversation? Care to explain?”

“Well, dinner entails eating. Food for the most part. Drinks are common as well.”

“I meant conversation. What exactly do you mean by that?” She was suspicious.

“I’ll ask questions. You’ll answer them honestly, and as long as you don’t refuse to answer my questions, I’ll take your polygraph.” She was more than suspicious; she didn’t trust him, and why the hell would she? She was also off in some way. She was too shy, too nervous. “Now would you care to tell me what’s got you so out of sorts?”