Blood of Innocence Read online

  Elmer. My so-called fiancé. “It’s just me.”

  “I—I ...” Whatever I was about to say completely vanished from my mind. Poof, gone. I was rendered speechless as my gaze took in Elmer’s clothes. “W-what are you wearing?”

  Elmer grimaced as he checked his nonreflection in the rearview mirror. (The Sluagh cast no reflection, like your typical Western European vampire.) “What’s wrong? Don’t you like my speed-dating look?”

  I took in the goofy hat, the polyester shirt with the 1970s-style collar, and the really tacky vest on top of it before I responded. “It’s a lot of look. Where do you shop?”

  “Salvation Army. I like their prices. And their selection.”

  “I see.” I briefly considered his problem; then I made a decision. As much as I didn’t want to get Gabe or JT involved in this situation, I needed some help—or rather, I needed some decent clothes. “What time does the speed dating event start?”

  “Nine o’clock.”

  “Good.” I checked the clock. “We’ve got time.” I dug my phone out of my laptop bag. After a quick struggle, trying to decide which guy to call first, I dialed.

  JT picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Skye.”

  “Hi, JT. I need a favor.” I slid a sidelong glance at my companion and fought a shudder.

  “Sure,” JT said.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m on my way home.”

  “Good. Um. Can I have your address?”

  “Sure. It’s 626 West Elk Avenue, Unit 2.”

  “Thanks.” I punched the address into my GPS. “I’ll be at your place in ten.”

  “Okay. What do you need?”

  “I’ll explain when I get there.”

  “Fair enough. See you in a few.”

  Ten minutes later, Elmer and I were standing at JT’s front door. When JT opened it, he smiled at me; then he scrunched his eyebrows at Elmer.

  “We need to borrow some clothes,” I explained, pointing at Elmer.

  “Sure.” JT’s lips quirked. I could tell he was having a hard time holding back the guffaw. JT led us up to his bedroom. I marveled at his place as I followed. It was masculine. Clean. Contemporary. Very JT. His bedroom was nice. An enormous flat-screen TV hung on one wall. A ginormous bed was positioned against the opposite. Television. Bed. What more could a guy want in his room, right?

  After shooting me an amused look, he motioned for Elmer to follow him. “This way. I’ll hook you up.”

  I tested the chaise lounge facing the TV. I pointed the remote toward the television and was rewarded with the vision of a woman’s tight ass, bigger than life.

  No question what JT had been doing the last time he’d watched television. I clicked to a more PG channel, finding a thriller movie about a forensic psychiatrist. As a general rule, I’m not much of a television watcher. I prefer reading. But I do love a well-written thriller, especially when it’s about the FBI.

  I was just getting caught up in the story when JT came out of the walk-in closet.

  “Whatcha watching?” he asked.

  “Some movie about a forensic psychiatrist.”

  “Ah, Pacino. Seen it. The killer’s his student, the lawyer.”

  “Thanks,” I said flatly. I clicked the button, surfing the channels.

  JT gently took the remote out of my hand, killed the TV, and then placed the remote on the table sitting off to one side. He made himself comfortable on the chaise; his butt was resting next to my hips. I felt my body stiffen slightly. His brows scrunched together. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I forced a smile. “How much longer do you think Elmer will be?”

  JT shrugged. “Don’t know. It isn’t easy finding clothes in my closet to fit him. He’s a foot shorter, and at least fifty pounds lighter.”

  “Yeah, I knew it would be tough, but you saw what he was wearing. I wasn’t going out in public with him in that.”

  “Where are you heading?” he asked casually.

  “Speed dating.”

  His neutral expression vanished for a split second. In a blink, it was back. “Speed dating, eh?”

  “Sure. You remember, I need to find him a wife.”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “I told him I’d go along.”

  “You’re not ... participating, then?”

  I didn’t want to feel that little happy-heart flip-flop at the sound of jealousy in his voice. But I did. And that worried me. “Actually, I was thinking about it.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure.”

  His lips thinned. But he said nothing. Instead, he stood, grabbed the remote, and started clicking through channels. After burning through fifty channels, more or less, he powered off the TV and stared at me. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you doing the speed-dating thing?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “No.”

  “People go to these things to meet people,” I told him.

  “Well, of course, that much is obvious. But I thought ... We ...” He sighed and powered on the TV again.

  He was really taking this news hard. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. That was not good.

  “JT, we’ve talked about this before. You’re an agent. I’m an intern. It wouldn’t look good for either of us, if we were to start ... you know ...”

  His jaw clenched. “I told you, the chief doesn’t give a damn about our personal lives.”

  “But I care about my reputation. Remember, JT, the PBAU wasn’t my first choice of units. Maybe someday I want to move on. What would a bad reputation do for my chances?”

  He seemed to be listening. At the very least, that little muscle along his jaw stopped popping out. He nodded.

  “Besides,” I said, tossing out what Gabe had said before I could stop myself, “I’ve heard rumors you’re involved with someone else, anyway.”

  There went that little muscle again. Two narrow, slitted eyes squinted at me. “Who told you that?”

  “Are you denying it?”

  “Who was it?” he snapped.

  “Does it matter? Especially if it’s true?”

  “It isn’t true. It’s a lie. Who am I supposedly screwing?”

  “Hough.”

  His face paled. He went back to hitting the button on the remote, but I had a feeling he wasn’t actually seeing what was displayed on the television.

  “Well, are you still going to tell me it’s a lie?”

  “She’s a lesbian,” he reminded me, still staring at the TV. “And she’s married.”

  “So you said. But you and she were overheard having a very intimate conversation. How else am I supposed to take that?”

  He clamped his lips together. His jaw flexed, but he didn’t respond.

  So it was true.

  My heart dove to my toes. Before I said or did something totally humiliating, I pushed off the chaise and raced from the room.

  JT followed me. “Sloan!”

  I actually sprinted down the stairs. He caught up to me just as I yanked open his front door. He reached over my shoulder, using his flattened hand to slam it shut. That left me trapped between the door and his bulky body.

  “There’s nothing more to talk about,” I said to the door.

  “Yes, there is.” He leaned closer, totally invading my personal-space bubble.

  It was my turn to grit my teeth. “Stop being such an ass and let go, JT. This conversation is done. Over. Kaput. We’re coworkers. And maybe friends, if you let me leave with my pride intact.”

  He moved his hand. “Fine. But ... it’s not what you think.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think.” I went out to the car and waited for Elmer. Thankfully, it took him a while. I needed the time to collect myself, which I did. After indulging in a brief pity party, I freshened up my makeup and fluffed my hair.

  When he returned to the car, Elmer looked a million times better. He grinned, showing off a set of poin
ted teeth that would make a piranha green with envy. “How do I look?”

  “The clothes are a vast improvement. You might want to tone down the smile, though.”

  “Too much teeth?”

  “Too much.”

  Nothing weighs on us so heavily as a secret.

  —Jean de La Fontaine

  6

  Elmer played with the radio while we drove to the hall where the speed-dating event was being hosted. It wasn’t the nicest place, but it wasn’t the worst. The parking lot was jammed.

  “This is going to be great!” Elmer said as a pair of long-legged women hobbled by on stilettos.

  “Yeah, great,” I echoed, scanning the parking lot for males.

  I saw plenty of women. Not one man.

  Then again, considering my frame of mind (men suck!), that was probably a good thing.

  “We shouldn’t walk in together,” Elmer mumbled. “Wouldn’t want anyone thinking we’re a couple.”

  Ditched by my former-sorta-officially-still fiancé. What a loser I was. “Good point.” I slumped into the car to wait. While I was killing time, I continued to scan the area for anyone with a Y chromosome.

  Not one.

  Things were looking pretty damn good for Elmer. Me, not so much.

  Fully expecting this to be two to three of the longest hours of my life, I straggled inside and followed the sign, heading down the set of wide steps to the Gold banquet room. I signed in at the entry and wandered inside.

  “May I please have your attention?” a fairly attractive woman was saying. Standing at the far end of the room, she waved her arms. The room went still and silent. “I’d like all the gentlemen to stand over here, please.” She pointed at a corner. “Ladies, I would like you to take a seat at a table, please. We’ll begin shortly.”

  There were dozens of tables, each with one chair on each side, facing each other. Within minutes, every table in the place was occupied. And I was still standing, after losing an impromptu game of musical chairs with the other women.

  Oh, well. I’d sit this one out.

  I backed myself toward the exit.

  “I’m sorry,” the hostess said, rushing up to me. “We have a big crowd tonight. Much larger than normal.”

  “Not a problem. I can come back another time.”

  “Oh, absolutely not. You’re here. You must stay.” She took my hand in hers—her skin was cold, clammy—and yanked me toward the far end of the room. “Wait here.” She scurried off like a little mouse.

  Feeling like I was being stared at, which I was, I glanced around nervously. Elmer gave me a toothy grin and a thumbs-up. I almost made a break for it; but before I got anywhere, the hostess was back. Two men—two gorgeous men—followed her, each one carrying a chair.

  One set one behind me. The other set his in front of me. I thanked them both, wondering if they’d stick around for the fun.

  They didn’t.

  “Okay, we’ll begin in five minutes,” the hostess shouted over the rising din. “We’ll rotate the gentlemen every five minutes,” she said as she escorted the first man to my chair.

  It was hard to imagine, but this guy made Elmer look like Gerard Butler.

  He leered.

  I fiddled with my purse and watched the hostess point the other men toward a table for the first round.

  “Okay. Your time starts”—the hostess hit a button on her watch—“now!”

  Tall, dark, and creepy sat. “Hi.” His voice was a low rumble. You know the old television show The Addams Family? Lurch. “I’m Adam. Troll. You?”

  Adam? Fitting. “My name’s ... Sue. Half-elf.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Half?” Then, nothing. He stared.

  This was hell.

  “What do you do for a living?” I asked, wondering how long five minutes could possibly last. I swear that five hours had passed.

  “Butcher.”

  Ew. And ew. “I’m thinking about becoming a vegetarian.”

  A little chime sounded. I was so happy that I almost jumped out of my seat and did a little dance.

  “Time’s up,” our hostess announced in a singsong. “Gentlemen, please move one table to the left.”

  A short, squat man took Adam’s place. “Greg,” he said, his voice a whiny, weaselly, nasally sound that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Goblin.”

  Apparently, Elmer wasn’t kidding. This was speed dating for the otherworldly. I hadn’t realized there were so many of them around the DC area. I supposed I shouldn’t have been shocked.

  “Sarah,” I said. “Half-elf.” I emphasized the half part again, hoping that would squash the interest I saw glittering in his freakish rodent-like eyes.

  “Very glad to meet you,” he began. Then, “I’ve-never-been-to-one-of-these-events-have-you-I-have-to-say-this-isn’t-what-I-thought-it-would-be... .” And on. And on. And on.

  He filled every excruciating second of the next five minutes with one long, rambling, horrifically boring run-on sentence that went nowhere and made my eyes water.

  My next “date” was a zombie. Bob. Bob’s ear fell off in the middle of our conversation. I almost lost my dinner. Things went south from there; blocks of five minutes spent with the weird, the scary, and the freakishly bizarre, culminating in my worst nightmare. At the very end of the evening, our hostess announced that the men were free to go and talk to any lady they might be interested in seeing again. Every one of them came back to my table.

  Every. Single. One.

  Gee, I was popular. With the undead. The living dead. And the soon-to-be dead.

  Lucky me.

  There was only one bright spot in this otherwise dreary evening. Elmer had his pick of all the other women in the room.

  My alarm clock made some sort of bizarre noise, making me lurch upright. I smacked the snooze button. The noise didn’t stop. I switched it off. The noise didn’t stop.

  “What the hell?”

  “Sloan,” Katie yelled from her room. “Would you answer your freaking phone?”

  “Phone?” Blinking in the dark, I groped for my cell phone. Checked it. Sure enough, it was the source of the noise. But I hadn’t changed the ringer. Strange. I hit the button. “Hello?”

  “I apologize for waking you, Sloan,” Chief Peyton said on the other end. “But there’s been another murder. I’d like you to head over to the crime scene before the victim’s cleared away.”

  “Oh. Sure.” I took down the address and then stumbled my way into the bathroom. Glad I’d managed to escape the speed-dating thing relatively early (never again!), I took care of the essentials. A scorching hot shower partially woke me. The huge cup of coffee-to-go finished the job. By the time I’d arrived at the residence of Laura Volpe, I was feeling downright perky.

  Until I saw JT.

  Of course he’d be here. The chief liked to pair the two of us together.

  “Hey,” he said as I strolled toward the house.

  “Good morning.” A weird moment passed between us. Awkward silence. I motioned toward the door. “Are we clear to go inside?”

  “Not yet.”

  I nodded.

  He motioned toward a huddled circle of people. “They’re questioning the husband.”

  “Another married victim?” I asked.

  “I heard he was in bed with her. Just like the others.”

  “This is too weird. How could he not have woken up?” Then an idea flashed in my head. “Has anyone tested the husbands?”

  “For what?”

  “Drugs.”

  “I don’t think so. I see where you’re going with it. Let’s see if we can get him to submit voluntarily to a quick blood screen.” He motioned for me to follow him as he headed toward a pair of men standing on the porch. “I don’t think you’ve met Detective McGrane yet,” he told me. “He’s the lead on this one. Detective, this is Sloan Skye. She suggested we might want to ask the husband if he’ll submit to a blood screen.”

  “What’re you loo
king for?” the detective asked.

  “GHB? Any kind of amnesic or central-nervous-system depressant,” I answered. “This is the third kill by this unsub. And every time, there’s been someone in bed with the victim during the attack. And yet none of them have been able to recall anything.”

  “Damn.” McGrane nodded. “I’ll see what we can do. Thanks. We were looking at the husband.”

  “Never a bad idea,” JT said. “But so far, the others have checked out.”

  “Got it. Who are the leads on the other kills?”

  “Just one. Riggleman.”

  McGrane nodded. “I’ll call him. Get all the details. I’ll be taking over the case from here.”

  A member of the crime scene team interrupted the conversation. “We’re set.”

  “Find anything?” McGrane asked.

  The tech shrugged. “This is the cleanest scene I’ve ever seen. We got nothing. Not a drop of blood. No fibers. No fingerprints.”

  “Just like the other two,” I said.

  McGrane shook his head. “There must be something. We’re not looking in the right places.”

  The tech said, “We scoured the place, top to bottom.”

  “If it’s okay, we’d like to head inside,” JT said to McGrane.

  “Sure.”

  I followed JT after thanking the detective.

  JT inspected the door first. “No sign of tampering with the door. How the hell is he getting in?”

  “Maybe he’s sneaking in when the door’s unlocked,” I suggested. “He could be hiding until the victim goes to bed.”

  “Hiding. Hmm ...” He headed up the stairs, following the sounds of voices toward the bedroom.

  I trailed behind; my gaze scrutinized everything as I walked. The steps. The banister. The walls. The framed black-and-white photographs that were hanging there. They looked so happy, Mr. Volpe and his wife. The last photo, at the very top of the stairs, made my blood run cold. She was wearing a white button-down shirt. The buttons were open from just under her ample breasts down, exposing a very round belly.

  “Please tell me she wasn’t pregnant too.”

  At the door, a uniformed cop looked at me funny. “She was. How’d you know?”

  JT and I exchanged looks.

  There could be no doubt. This was our guy.