Dead Sexy. Amanda Ashley
She was supposed to be home by ten. When she wasn’t home by midnight, the mother got worried. She called the boyfriend’s house but his folks hadn’t heard from him. What with the recent killings making headlines, the girl’s mother called the police.”
“What made them look here?”
Flynn jerked his head toward where a tall, skinny young man stood, a dog the size of a pony at his side.
“The dog found the bodies. The kid called nine-one-one.”
Regan nodded.
Flynn swore, something he rarely did in Regan’s presence. “We’ve got big trouble.”
“More than this?” Regan stared at the girl’s body, her stomach roiling. It was bad enough when this kind of thing happened to adults, but children…Regan crossed her arms over her stomach. The girl should be home with her parents, arguing about doing her homework or gossiping on the phone with her best friend. She shouldn’t be a crime statistic.
“Think about it,” Flynn said. “These killings didn’t take place inside the park like the others…”
“Which means we’ve got a vampire that can cross the force field,” Regan said, finishing his thought for him.
“Right.”
Regan nodded. If this was, indeed, a vampire killing, then there were at least two vampires who could cross the force field: the killer and Joaquin Santiago. Unless they were one and the same…She thrust the thought from her mind.
“Maybe it isn’t a vampire,” Regan said, thinking aloud.
Flynn looked at her, his brow furrowed. “What else could it be?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a copycat killer,” she suggested, while a little voice inside her mind whispered werewolf. Legend said werewolves ate flesh. They didn’t drink blood. Santiago had to be wrong. This had to be the work of a rogue vampire, one who drained his victims and then mutilated the bodies, perhaps to make the police think they had a serial killer on their hands instead of a vampire who was able to cross the force field. Either that, or the killer really was a madman, one who liked to collect blood and body parts. Or maybe the killer was some kind of Satanist who used the blood and internal organs in rituals of dark magic.
“Listen, I’ll talk to you later,” Flynn said. “I told the captain I’d call him and bring him up to speed.”
“All right.”
Regan was still contemplating who or what besides a vampire might have killed the teenagers when a warm tingle suffused her. She didn’t have to turn around to know that Santiago was standing behind her.
“They’re so young,” she murmured. “So young to die such a terrible death.”
She glanced up at Santiago, surprised by the sorrow she saw in the depths of his eyes. She had always believed vampires were past feeling human emotions, that the capacity for love and compassion and grief died along with their mortality.
“Is this the work of the werewolf?” she asked as he came to stand beside her.
“Is this between you and me?” he asked quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“I do not wish you to repeat what I tell you to anyone else.”
“If you have information on who the murderer is, it needs to be reported,” she said adamantly. “We’ve got to stop this maniac before he kills again.”
“Then I cannot help you.”
“It was a vampire, wasn’t it? And you don’t want anyone to know.”
“I know who did this and I will deal with him in my own way.”
“So, it is a vampire.” It wasn’t a question this time. She studied the two bodies, focusing on the wounds and not the horror reflected on the faces of the victims. “How can you tell? They look the same as the others.”
“If you tell the police I told you a vampire did this, I will deny it,” he said curtly.
“So now we have two killers running around,” Regan muttered. “That’s great, just great.” She turned away as the M.E. shook out a body bag.
“This one will not be running around for long.”
Regan stared at Santiago. He was the only vampire she knew of who could cross the force field. For the second time that night, she wondered if he was the one responsible for the horrendous killings.
He met her gaze, his eyes narrowing ominously. “You think I did this?”
“Did you?”
“Would I be here if I had?”
“But it was a vampire, wasn’t it? What about the other murders?” she asked, frowning. “Were they the work of the werewolf or the vampire?”
“The three I told you about were killed by a vampire. I knew he was powerful. I did not realize he was powerful enough to ignore the force field.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before.”
“He was not killing children before.”
Regan massaged her temple with her fingertips. She could feel a headache coming on. “How do you know it was a vampire who did this and not the werewolf? Did you smell the vampire’s scent, too?”
“I cannot tell you all my secrets, Regan Delaney,” he replied with a wry grin, “but after tonight, the one who did this will no longer be a threat to your kind, or mine.”
Chapter 4
The vampire paused at the edge of the lake, his preternatural senses testing the night air. He had fed earlier, and fed well, but lately the hunger would not be appeased.
He glanced at the burlap bag in his hand, then flung the bag and its contents into the center of the lake, watching impassively as the blood-crusted organs floated on the water before slowly sinking out of sight.
He didn’t know who was killing the people inside You Bet Your Life Park, and he didn’t care. It provided the perfect cover for his own crimes, although he found ripping out hearts and livers a rather nasty business.
He grunted softly. He didn’t know why he found it so odious. He had done far worse things without a qualm.
Turning away from the lake, he walked down the narrow, twisting path that led to the street and the park beyond. It amused him to know that the foolish mortals believed the vampires were confined to the park. Of course, it was true that most of the Undead couldn’t cross the force field—but he wasn’t one of them.
He was almost to the park when he paused. It was hours until dawn, plenty of time to make another kill.
He was stalking a voluptuous young woman wearing a silver spandex tank top and a black leather miniskirt when he sensed the presence of another of his kind.
The vampire stopped, all thoughts of the woman forgotten. He had not felt fear in over two hundred years, but he felt it now. It was a sudden chill snaking down his spine, a clammy hand clawing at his vitals.
“Karl.”
The voice came out of the shadows, as cold and unforgiving as death itself.
The vampire peered into the darkness. “Leave me alone, Santiago. You hear? Go away and leave me alone!”
“You have broken my law. You have killed on my turf.”
“You’re not the master of the city anymore,” Karl said, his voice rising. “You’re no better than the rest of us!”
“Am I not?”
Karl muttered a vile oath as Santiago materialized in front of him, his appearance so fast and unexpected that it came as a complete, and unwelcome,