Blood of Dawn Page 4

  It was Damen Sylver.

  Gorgeous, sexy, make-me-quiver Damen.

  A little flash of excitement zoomed through me as I hit the button, answering the call. “Hello,” I said, my voice all smiley. I couldn’t help it. Damen Sylver made me feel girly. He was gorgeous. He was polite. He was intelligent. And he wasn’t a coworker, an ex-boyfriend, or otherwise completely off-limits like Gabe and JT were.

  Albeit, he was also an FBI agent. He’d convinced me that wouldn’t be a problem.

  “I have a surprise for you,” he said. “But . . . I noticed your building looks a little vacant.”

  “Yeah. There was a fire last night. I have to stay with my parents for the next couple of weeks. Where are you?”

  “In your parking lot.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think to tell you.” Why would I? We weren’t an item. We hadn’t done enough stuff to be considered an item yet.

  “That’s okay. Would you mind if I stopped by your parents’ place?”

  “Absolutely not.” I glanced in the mirror and scowled. I’d been walking around looking like the undead all day. I had no makeup. My hair was a mess. The only thing going for me was the fact that he was sitting in my parking lot, and I was minutes from Mom and Dad’s, which gave me time to make myself presentable. I rattled off the address, asked if he needed directions, and when he said no—GPS—ended the call. Then I lead-footed it to my temporary home, hauled in my bags, and dashed up to my new bedroom. Moving quickly, I gathered up some supplies from Mom’s stash, showered, shaved, loofahed, primped, spritzed, flat-ironed, and plucked until I was looking date ready. I was putting the finishing touches on my hair when Sergio knocked, announcing I had a visitor downstairs. He was waiting in the den.

  I found him sitting across from Mom. He looked amazing, from the top of his shaggy-haired head to his well-shod toes. What he was doing here, waiting for plain old me . . . I couldn’t imagine.

  “There she is.” He bent over the side of the chair and grabbed something; then, keeping his hands behind his back, he strolled to me. Intriguing. Curious to find out what he was hiding, I did my part to decrease the distance separating our bodies. Within seconds, we were standing mere inches apart. He produced a medium-sized, gift-wrapped box from behind his back.

  “What’s this?” I asked, staring down at the box. “It’s not my birthday.”

  “It’s just a little something. I saw it and thought of you.” Smiling so big that little crinkles fanned the outsides of his eyes, he handed it over. “Open it.”

  “Okay.” I untied the ribbon, then ripped the paper away. It was a book. I flipped it over to read the title: Comparative Analysis of Vampiric Species, by James Skye.

  As far as I knew, that book had been out of print for decades. “Where did you find this?” Considering the fire, and the fact that I’d lost all of my father’s research, this was the find of the century.

  But the statistical likelihood that this was merely a lucky coincidence was almost nil.

  “It was collecting dust in a little used-book store I like to visit from time to time. . . . Okay, I confess. Jim—er, your father—called and told me what had happened. I had this copy at home. To be honest, I thought I’d sold it. But I checked, anyway. Obviously, I hadn’t sold it. I thought you could use it more than me.”

  “Thank you.” I hugged the book to my chest and stared up into his eyes. “This is sure going to come in handy.”

  “Glad to hear that.”

  Mom cleared her throat. “Oh, my.” She yawned loudly. It was a complete fake. “I’m exhausted. I think I’ll head up to bed.”

  “Did you have some of your pie?” I asked her. “I bought French silk.”

  “French silk.” Mom’s eyes sparkled, but then they flicked to Damen. All the sparkle vanished. Poof. Gone. “My doctor told me that I need to cut back.” She shuffled past my gentleman caller, stopped next to me, and whispered, “Good night, Sloan. I gave Sergio the rest of the night off, and your father’s working late.” She waggled her eyebrows. Then, continuing on, she turned to Damen. “It was good seeing you again, Mr. Sylver.”

  “It was good seeing you too,” he said, the corners of his lips twitching.

  Once she was out of earshot, I shook my head. “I knew living with her was going to be tough, but I had no idea—”

  Before I could finish, Damen hauled me into his arms. I looked up, my mouth agape. And he tipped his head down, lower, lower. He was going to kiss me; and oh, my God, was I happy about it! When his lips came into contact with mine, my whole body felt like it was electrified. Every single cell. I heard the book hit the floor long before I realized I had dropped it. I threw my arms around Damen’s neck and held on while he kissed me. The world seemed to close in on itself, until all that existed was his big, hard body and little, trembling me.

  When he finally broke the kiss, I blinked a couple of times and muttered something unintelligible.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “S-sure.”

  With his arm still curved around my waist, he bent over and picked up the book. “You dropped this.”

  “Th-thanks.”

  I couldn’t seem to produce more than one syllable at a time. My insides were zooming and swooping and flip-flopping. My head was spinning. I wasn’t sure which way was up. I was brain-dead. And as much as I wanted to shake myself out of it, I couldn’t.

  “Sloan, come here.” He guided me to the couch and helped me sit. Then he went to the kitchen. He grabbed a bottled water out of the refrigerator and handed it to me. After I guzzled half of it, he asked, “Better?”

  “What was that?” I asked. Three words. Three syllables. That was an improvement.

  “I’d like to think it was the result of my overwhelming charm.” He winked.

  “I’ve never been struck dumb before. It was weird.”

  “Weird, bad?”

  “Weird, weird. But not necessarily bad.” I set down the bottle. “In the name of science, maybe we should try that again. To see if we get the same results.”

  His smile broadened. “Of course, in the name of science.” Our mouths met. An explosion of colors blasted behind my closed eyelids. I swear, there couldn’t be a nerve in my body that wasn’t on fire.

  It was magic.

  “Excuse me,” someone said.

  No. Not now.

  The offending interrupter cleared his throat. “Thith is life or death.”

  So was this. I didn’t just want to keep kissing Damen. I needed to keep kissing him. I couldn’t stop. Not a chance.

  Damen stopped. He leaned back. I pried open my eyelids and cut a mean look at Elmer.

  “I don’t care,” Elmer hissed. “You didn’t help me thith morning, and now it’th too late.”

  My gaze wandered up and down his form. He was wearing a suit. Black. Black shirt. Black tie. His hair was cover-model perfect—and much, much thicker than it had been this morning. And his skin was the shade of a Baywatch lifeguard’s. His teeth were no longer barracuda-pointy. And his hair was a lot darker, too.

  “Why . . . What’s wrong with your mouth? Is it your teeth?” I mumbled.

  “Capths.” He pursed his lips. “I’m thill getting uthed to them. Do I talk funny?”

  “Not at all,” I lied. “They definitely make you look less . . . er, scary. Are you wearing a toupee?”

  He grunted; then he slapped his hand on the top of his head and yanked the hairpiece off. “I told her it wouldn’t fool anybody.” He wound up for the pitch; his target was the trash can in the kitchen.

  “No, no, no.” I caught his spindly arm. “I didn’t mean to make you think it looks bad. It doesn’t.”

  “They hired a thylist to guthy me up. But I don’t feel like it’th me.”

  “It is an improvement.” I released his arm.

  He didn’t look convinced. “If you thay.” His gaze slid to Damen, who was sitting very quietly by my side, one arm draped across the back of the couch. “
I need Thloan to come with me. They’re filming the first epithode in a few. She got me into thith. . . .”

  That was, at best, a slight tweak of the truth, but I didn’t bother to correct him.

  “That’s fine. I need to get going, anyway.” Damen stood, leaned over me, and gave me a quick kiss on the lips. The kiss was much too brief. “When can I see you again?”

  I gazed up into his deep eyes. “I’m pretty much free every night this week, assuming I don’t get called in to work.”

  “Good. I’ll be back tomorrow. Don’t eat dinner.”

  “Great. See you then.” I basked in the brilliance of his smile before standing. “If you want to wait a minute, I can walk you to the door. I need to grab my purse.”

  “Sure.”

  Elmer shot him some mean eyes.

  “Actually, I should get going,” Damen said, looking a bit nervous.

  Was he really going to let that little creep chase him away?

  I bit back a comment that he might not have liked and threw him a little dismissive wave. “That’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He made a beeline for the front door; I glared at Elmer. “Why’d you do that?”

  “What?”

  “You scared my friend.”

  Elmer blinked his creepy, little, beady eyes at me. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “Yeah. Right.”

  “Whatever. Can we get going? Dale Nethinger hath been calling me every five minutes thince I left. I think she’th getting nervouth.”

  “You could have called her and explained the problem.” Inside my car, I shoved the key into the ignition and gave it a twist.

  “I’m not a freaking geniuth like thome people, but even I know that wouldn’t have worked.”

  “Okay, so why don’t you just poof to wherever they’re filming and I’ll meet you there?”

  “Becauthe I’m not filming even one minute without you being there. Consider yourthelf my agent.”

  What had I gotten myself into?

  A jagged bolt of lightning lit up the sky.

  Emma Walker could hardly believe this was happening. She was alone. With Kyle Quinn. The Kyle Quinn. “I thought you’d hooked up with Stephanie Barnett?” she asked, finding herself leaning into him. He smelled so good. Looked even better. And she hoped to find out how he tasted soon too.

  His brows scrunched. “Who told you that? I didn’t hook up with her or anyone else.”

  “I thought I saw you together at Joe Malone’s party.”

  “No. I didn’t go to Malone’s party.”

  “Oh.” The house had been crammed full of people. She supposed she could have mistaken someone else for him. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t gotten a clear view of him . . . or whoever that had been. “Anyway, I really appreciate the help with algebra.” She pulled open the door. “It would take me hours to do this stupid homework if you didn’t help.”

  “No problem.” Kyle stepped inside after her, then waited for her to shut the door. “Where’s your mom?”

  “Working. She’s on afternoons all week. Then she switches to midnights. The joys of being a nurse.”

  “That sucks for her.” Moving swiftly, he hooked her waist in his arm and jerked her to him. The air left her lungs, and her heart started pounding in her chest.

  “Yeah, sucks for her,” she whispered, smiling up into Kyle Quinn’s dark eyes. Little currents of electricity seemed to be buzzing up and down through her body.

  He tipped his head. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time,” he said as his mouth moved toward hers.

  She swore that she’d just died and gone to heaven.

  It was almost three A.M. before I’d been able to hit the road. My eyes felt like they’d been plucked out of my head, rolled in sand, and stuffed back into their sockets. I was probably incapable of passing a field sobriety test. Not because I was drunk, but just because I was so freaking exhausted. And all I could think about was landing in my big, soft bed.

  The filming had gone okay. Not great. But not disastrous either. As it turned out, Elmer could act charming when the cameras were rolling. Even I found myself looking past his ghoulish features to admire his sense of humor. When he was on, he wasn’t a goofy cutup. Nor was he socially awkward. He was witty and intelligent.

  At any rate, by some miracle, I made it back to the parents’ mansion without being pulled over, hitting something, or going the wrong way on the freeway. I dragged my stiff, achy body up the front walk and tried the door. Locked. I knocked. I rang the bell. I called Mom and left her a message. And once everything else failed, I went back to my car, slumped into the driver’s seat, reclined it as far back as it would go, and shut my eyes.

  A knock on my window woke me up sometime later. Much later. It was light outside.

  Mom was standing there, munching on a piece of toast, staring at me like I was Shamu at SeaWorld.

  I turned on the car so I could power down the window. The clock’s digital display glowed green. Seven-thirty. And the windshield was covered with water droplets. It had stormed again while I’d been sleeping.

  My phone rang.

  “Sloan? Why are you sleeping in your car?” Mom asked.

  “Because it’s more comfortable—and drier—than the front porch. You locked me out.”

  Mom gave me stink eye. “I didn’t lock you out. You locked yourself out. I was in bed when you left.”

  “You’re right. Technically, I did lock myself out.”

  Mom handed me her nibbled toast. “Are you hungry? Here. Come inside and I’ll make you some pancakes while you shower.”

  I haven’t had Mom’s pancakes in years. That’s a good thing. She’s the only person I know who can mess up a perfectly good Aunt Jemima batter. It’s the additives she tries to sneak in, to make them healthy: crunchy twigs, little leaves. And don’t get me started on the brown liquid—labeled sugar-free syrup—that she douses them in. “That’s a very kind offer, but I’ve got to go.” As if on cue, my phone rang again. I snatched it. Expecting it to be either Chief Peyton or JT, I checked the display. It was the latter. “See? Work’s calling me. I’m late.” I grabbed my phone and purse and hurried out of the car. “I need to change clothes.”

  Mom shrugged, then fell into step beside me. “I guess that leaves more for Katie. She’s a little skinny, anyway. And her diet is absolutely horrible. Did you know she eats a ham sandwich every single day?”

  “Terrible, isn’t it? I’ve tried telling her how bad those processed meats are, but she won’t stop. Maybe she’ll listen to you.” Inside, I hustled up the steps. There was no time for a shower. I would have to freshen up, pull my hair back, put on a little makeup, and head out. I still had a long drive to Quantico ahead of me.

  “You can bet I’ll try my best. I love that girl like she’s my own daughter.”

  “I know you do, Mom. And she’s so, so lucky.”

  After I changed, slapped on some makeup, and plastered my hair back, I hurried back downstairs. I checked my messages before heading out to my car.

  JT: “Sloan, call me. ASAP. We’ve got a second victim.”

  My insides twisted. Bad news already. “Damn.”

  Every man casts a shadow; not his body only, but his imperfectly mingled spirit. This is his grief. Let him turn which way he will, it falls opposite to the sun; short at noon, long at eve. Did you never see it?

  —Henry David Thoreau

  5

  Within an hour, I’d parked down the street from the middle-class residence of Emma Walker, the second victim. Wasting no time, I bustled out of the vehicle and jogged down the sidewalk toward the cordoned-off area in front of the house. The similarities between the girls, at least from the outside, were apparent right away. Like Stephanie Barnett, Emma Walker lived in a nice, well-kept home on a quiet suburban street. Their houses were mere blocks from each other, which suggested the killer was probably local, targeting girls he knew personally. My first thought, as I hurried up the front steps, was
to check what schools the girls attended. If we were dealing with a teen killer, chances were good they were students of the same school.

  Inside, I found JT standing in the living room, talking to a woman who had to be the girl’s mother—judging by the bloodshot eyes and tear-streaked face. My heart did a little jerk in my chest at the sight of the bereft woman, and I wondered if I’d ever get used to seeing such wretched human suffering. My insides twisted, and my stomach churned. I took a couple of deep breaths and approached JT and the girl’s mom.

  JT introduced me. “Mrs. Walker, this is Sloan Skye. She’s going to help us profile the person who did this.”

  Dabbing her splotchy face, Mrs. Walker merely acknowledged me with a nod before turning back to JT. “I don’t understand why anyone would do this. My daughter was an innocent girl. A good girl. She was liked by everyone. Had lots of friends. Never got into trouble. Why?” She started sobbing again, and JT glanced at me.

  He said, “I know this is hard for you, but the more information we can get about your daughter, the more accurate our profile will be.” I could see that he was having a hard time with this one too. The man did have a good heart.

  I tried to encourage him with a tiny nod.

  The woman’s sobs finally settled down a little, and she blew her nose. “I’m trying.” She sniffled.

  “Take your time,” he said gently; his eyes were very soft and kind.

  “What was it you wanted?” she asked. “I don’t remember.”

  “We’d like a list of all of her friends at school,” he answered.

  The woman looked left and then right. “I don’t know. . . . Wait, her phone. Let me see what I can come up with.”

  “We’ll stay right here.”

  “Okay.” She lifted an index finger. Her lip quivering, she asked, “Does it make me a bad mother that I don’t know most of her friends’ names?”