Taste of Grief (Just One Bite #3) (12 page)

Arriving back at the office, Lizzie went to sit behind her
desk and stew over how someone could possibly be framed without any actual
evidence. A plain padded envelope was sitting on her desk, and she tensed
before opening it. There was no return address, nothing but the address of the
precinct and her name, rank, and badge number. Opening it carefully, she found
a slender box inside, not much different from the jewelry boxes that watches
and bracelets came in. Her knees went weak and she slumped in her chair- now
she had the way to frame a dealer, anyway. Inside that box was a syringe- she
had no doubt that if she analyzed it, she'd find the exact mixture of cocaine
and sedative that her murderer had been using. A slip of paper under the
syringe held two words- You're next.

Lizbeth carried the syringe in her briefcase like a dirty
little secret. She knew the right thing to do would be to turn it in, but she
couldn't do that, not if her plan was going to work. Instead, she hid it and
went searching for a dealer she knew was shady. "Kicks", which was
the only way he was known here in Bethany, was a shady, hateful young black
man, the closest thing to a thug that she'd ever seen. He was the go-to guy for
anything and everything illegal, but they'd never been able to get him
convicted, no matter how hard they tried. She was determined that things were
going to change- tonight. She'd been after this son of a bitch for years, and
had arrested him on numerous occasions, all for him to get off on one
technicality after another. His luck was going to change- this syringe would
make sure of it. After all, Carson had more to lose than she did- he'd make
sure the bastard was convicted.

She found Kicks on his usual corner- she parked a block down
in the shadows and watched for him to make a deal. He was slick- you never knew
what he was doing unless you watched very carefully. Just then some tweaker
walked up to him, twitching and shaking, holding a wad of money in his greasy
fist. Kicks may be clever, but the tweaker was anything but. "Gotcha,"
she mumbled under her breath as she climbed out of her car and shut the door as
quietly as she could. "Bethany Beach PD," she shouted, her gun
pointed at the pair of them. "Hand above your head." The tweaker
started to run and she made sure her gun was pointed directly at him as she
flicked the safety off. "Don't you even fucking try it," she warned.
The tweaker sat on the sidewalk and bawled like a baby, but Kicks simply turned
around and put his hands on his head. He knew the drill. She recited the
revised Miranda rights to both of them before securing them in the back of her unmarked
car. Walking over to the duffel bag that had been at Kicks' feet, she pulled on
a pair of gloves before opening it. She stealthily slid the syringe out of her
pocket and into the bag before zipping it once more and picking it up. She
climbed into her car and headed for the station, ignoring the tweak's crying in
the backseat as she fought down her guilty conscience. This may not be the best
choice, but it was one she would be able to live with- just not at the moment.

Lizbeth staggered in the front door of her home, and went
right up the stairs. Stripping off her clothing, she climbed under the covers,
seeking only sleep as a cure for her guilty conscience even though it wasn't
even 7 p.m. yet. She hugged her pillow to her the way she would a teddy bear.
Wrapping herself around it, she sobbed her heartache into it, hoping to muffle
the noise. She should have known it was a wasted effort- Diandra's hearing was
amazing, and within moments she stood staring down at Lizzie, concern evident
in her beautiful face.

"Baby, what is it?" Diandra asked- she attempted
to keep her voice calm, but a thread of anxiety showed anyway.

Lizbeth hiccupped as she struggled to control herself enough
to speak. "I broke the law today- the law I've believed in and fought for
my whole life. I framed a man for these murders," she said, wiping at her
eyes ineffectively- it's hard to dry a flowing river, she thought to herself-
wiping them away simply made room for more of them to continue their relentless
travel down her face since she had yet to stop crying.

 
The relief was
evident on Diandra's face. "I thought perhaps someone else we knew had
been murdered," she whispered in explanation. "I'm sorry you had to
do something so… against your nature, but perhaps it'll stop Carson for now-
he'll be too anxious to convict someone for his crimes to actually continue the
murders."

Lizbeth frowned at her. "I'm next, Dia, however he
plans to kill me. He may have to switch methods, but he wants me dead no matter
how it has to be done. His vampire assassin failed- now he has to do it
himself. He won't risk me coming for him. For the both of us, it's kill or be
killed."

Diandra shook her head. "Which is why, from now on, I'll
be with you. You may not always see me, but I'll be there."

"Fuck that," Lizbeth blurted out. "I'm a cop,
damnit. My job is dangerous, and I accepted that the day I first pinned on my
badge. I don't need a damned babysitter to get through my shift."

"Then don't think of me as one," Diandra replied
coolly. "Think of me as a partner, not a babysitter. You have a vampire
out to kill you, not some everyday fruitcake. Until this sack of shit is a pile
of dust, you don't go out alone- period." She turned on her heel and left
Lizbeth to her own devices, effectively ending the argument and sucking the
wind out of Lizzie's sails in that one move.

Sighing, Lizbeth decided she'd need her strength if she was
to survive. Food was a necessity, and she hadn't eaten all day. If she didn't
get some fuel in her system, and maybe a bottle of beer to soothe her nerves,
she'd be useless if Carson came at her. She undressed and got into a pair of
lightweight pajamas, wanting the comfort of her night clothes. Blowing out a long
breath, she ran an idle hand through her hair and headed downstairs. With each
step, her desire for food, comfort, and conversation buoyed her, quickening her
pace until she was nearly flying down the stairs. It was always a relief to be
home.

Lizbeth had a nightmare that night, brought on by guilt over
the decision she'd made to frame Kicks for the cocaine overdose murders. In it,
Kicks chased her through the dark streets of Bethany Beach. Comfortable,
familiar streets now seemed twisted and full of malice. They were empty- no
people, no cars, but waves of hostility swirled up around her, combining with
the burning sensation in her lungs and chest, making it even harder to breathe.
He waved a syringe at her, a drop of the yellowish liquid glistening on the
sharp tip, proclaiming his innocence. Suddenly Alexar was in front of her,
holding a cigarette in one hand and shaking his head. "You turned your
back on your badge, Lizbeth. Giles Carson will eat you alive- you'll be just as
dead as I am in no time at all." With that, he collapsed to the sidewalk,
as dead as the night she had found his body. She crouched over his body and
wept, surprised when something stabbed her in the temple. She was suddenly
holding the used syringe in her balled fist, blood on the tip instead of the
drug. Instead of Alexar's body in front of her, Kicks looked up at her through
glassy, dead eyes.

Her phone rang, pulling her from the clutches of her dream.
She was grateful for a moment until she saw the number was restricted. She must
have given off some waves of tension because suddenly Diandra was wide awake
and staring intently at the ringing phone. "Carson?" she asked, her
voice concerned.

"Yeah," Lizbeth nodded as she flipped it open to
answer. "What do you want?" she said, skipping the niceties.

His voice came through the line, oozing goodwill and
sincerity enough to make her gag. "Why, Lizzie, I merely wanted to
congratulate you on getting Terrance Waller off the street," he said.
"Lord knows this man has been in front of a judge more times than I can
count. You did the public a great service- and me, of course. How… handy to
have someone to pin these murders on. Hmm, now I'll have to come up with some
creative way to kill you since you effectively stopped this method. I can't get
a conviction with the murders continuing," he mused. It was almost as
though he was talking to himself, but Lizbeth wasn't fooled.

"No worries, Carson," she replied, acid in her
tone. "You won't need a new murder method- you won't live long enough to
use it, anyway. I'm coming for you, you bastard- you'll pay for every murder,
but especially Alexar's."

Giles laughed. "I've been meaning to ask- I was under
the impression that you were a lesbian or some such nonsense. How did you
manage that and still fuck Thompson? Did you share him with your pretty little
wifey, or did you just watch them? Or maybe you fucked him on that awful couch
in his office. That's one sure-fire way to get the good cases," he said, a
teasing note in his voice.

"You'll die, you son of a bitch. I look forward to
it," Lizbeth said quietly before hanging up on him. With a screech of
anger, she heaved the phone across the room, wincing and looking in the
direction of RaeLynn's room guiltily as the phone thudded against the wall and
dropped to the carpet. Sighing, she got up, picked the phone up from the floor,
and replaced the battery and the backing that had come off when it hit the
wall. Powering it up, she was both disappointed and relieved when she found it
still worked.

Diandra was sitting up in the bed, sheet down around her
waist, her large breasts exposed with the sheet framing them beautifully.
Lizbeth noticed, but her mood was so poor that it had no real effect on her.
Fortunately lovemaking was the last thing on Dia's mind. "Hanging up on
him wasn't smart," Dia commented. "You needed to find out more- maybe
if you'd indulged him, he would've told you what he planned for you. It
could've given us some idea what direction he plans to come at you from."

Lizbeth glared- her anger at herself and Carson now aimed at
Diandra. "I was just supposed to indulge him, huh?" she mocked.
"Maybe I should look up his number. We can plan my death in great detail,
amuse him, and maybe help him. My, that sounds like fun. I certainly didn't
want sleep, anyway. Discussing my death sounds so much more exciting." She
fought the urge to throw the phone again- she couldn't risk breaking it, as
she'd need it if the precinct had to get in touch with her. God, she hoped they
didn't need her tonight. She just couldn't handle anything else right now.

"If you're done with your hissy fit, I'd like to know
what your schedule looks like so I can rearrange mine. Fortunately, Adrian
seems willing to dive into the charity work headfirst, so I'll have the time to
watch your back," Diandra said, her tone cold. Lizbeth felt another pang
of guilt and this made her angrier. She was entitled to be upset, wasn't she?
She couldn't keep her emotions in check all the time- she was scared and
furious, and that nightmare had really shaken her.

Sighing, Lizbeth sat on the corner of the bed and filled
Diandra in on the nightmare. At some point during the tale, Dia lost that cold
look- it simply melted into sympathy. When she was finished, Diandra wrapped
her in an embrace, offering comfort and support. "Oh, baby, I'm sorry. I
still have a hard time getting past my own grief, let alone seeing yours. I
didn't realize just how shaken everything made you." She pulled back and
grasped Lizbeth's hand in her own. She leaned back onto the bed, pulling her
unresisting lover down with her.

Lizbeth sank back into the pillows. With a startling
quickness, Diandra laid her body over Lizzie's, kissing her gently. The kiss
grew, becoming something deeper, warmer. Lizbeth opened her mouth in a sigh,
and Dia's tongue took advantage, slipping in to explore as she had so many
times before. Lizbeth lost herself in the sensation of those cooler lips
against her own, that slightly chilled tongue tangling with her own. She
grasped the breasts that, moments before, hadn't stirred her in the slightest.
Diandra's body warmed as her blood flowed more rapidly through her veins, a
surefire way to tell she was becoming excited.

The couple rolled across the bed, arms and legs tangling,
the moans becoming more frequent as they reaffirmed their love for one another
with their bodies, their mouths, their whispered endearments. Lizbeth's last
coherent thought before Diandra's tongue slid inside her wet and willing body
was to wonder why death- both those that had already happened, or the threat of
one that might happen- always made you want to prove you were still alive in
the basest way possible. Then the first orgasm rolled over her, and she thought
nothing more until the light of dawn entered the bedroom's window through the
light curtains.

The next day found Lizbeth with a spring to her step, even
though she hadn't slept much the night before. The extra closeness with Diandra
was worth foregoing some sleep, and she'd make up the difference with a
boatload of coffee instead. As she stifled a yawn and ran a hand through her sleep-tousled
hair, she thought maybe a tanker truck full would be more appropriate. She
dressed in her work clothes and brushed her teeth. She ran her fingers under
the faucet and then through her hair, finger-combing it into place. One
advantage of having shoulder-length hair was the luxury of skipping time trying
to do something with it in the morning.

She shambled her way to the kitchen, her nose working like a
bloodhound's as she scented coffee in the air. Ah, the soothing smells of the
morning, she thought to herself, as she reached for a travel mug and readied
her first cup. She leaned back against the counter as she drank it down with
her eyes closed, savoring the heady aroma combined with the heavenly taste.