Bloodlines (The Guardian of Empire City Book 1) Read online

  I began to pace, ignoring the rain and the cold as the idea sprouted big, hairy legs in my mind.

  “It’s all a setup. They send their wet-works guy to eliminate Vanessa, hoping to cripple the other interest by destroying their experiment. Millions of credits down the drain now that Vanessa is dead. The police investigation that follows exposes the ones behind Vanessa’s gilded prison, and all eyes are now on them.”

  I folded my arms across my chest as I paced, my mind racing through the details. “The ones behind Vanessa realize their opposite number knows what’s going on, so they send Julie and Tony to follow her. Unfortunately, they arrive at the alleyway too late to help Vanessa. But they get a good look at who did it and are saved by the police arriving on the scene. Otherwise, there are three corpses in that alleyway instead of one.”

  “Yeah, and a fuck-load more questions on the table too,” Deacon replied dryly.

  Why else would Julie and Tony make themselves vulnerable to questions by the police? They couldn’t run from the murder scene as that would’ve aroused suspicion. Instead, they received treatment from the paramedics, answered everyone’s questions, and acted the part of terrified eyewitnesses. They knew they’d be afforded police protection while the investigation continued, which deflected any immediate suspicion. If the killer or his bosses tried anything, they’d have to go through the police. Still, of the two, Tony had been genuinely frightened during our interview earlier in the day.

  Why kill Romero and Stanley? Had someone panicked? Or was it something more?

  “Tony didn’t strike me as the tough-guy type,” I said after a moment. “Maybe he lost his nerve, didn’t like how things were going down, so he wanted out. Julie decides to get rid of him before he can blow the whistle.”

  “Could be,” Deacon coughed, wincing as he did so. He spat on the ground again. “Tony tries to leave, so Julie kills him. The cleaners show up to report to Julie, but she’s already in the wind. Stanley and Romero are the collateral damage.”

  My eyes narrowed.

  “And the cleaners wait around for whoever shows up and take them out too? No, guys like them aren’t sacrificing themselves, no matter how much they’ve been paid. Maybe Julie suckered the cleaners into coming there? A double-cross?”

  “One or both of them’s trying to clean up a big fucking mess,” Deacon grunted, flicking his finished cigarette into the wet street, then lighting up a new one. “So, where’s Julie now?”

  “Kraze,” I answered. “That’s where they all met. One of the pinot bottles was missing back at her place too. Kraze might be the contact point.”

  “Worth a shot,” he said. “And you still think it’s about the blood?”

  “I’m sure of it.” I stopped pacing to regard the former Protector.

  “Vampires feed off human blood, Holliday. What’s the fucking point of murdering Vanessa that way? Your theory’s all well and good, but it’s a damn thin one.”

  “Dammit, Deacon! There are no such things as vampires!” I bristled with anger and frustration. “For chrissakes, you seriously believe it too?”

  Deacon puffed on his cigarette before answering.

  “I’ve said it before. I’ve seen a lot of weird shit. The Vellans came through a goddamn dimensional portal! For all we know, a vampire could’ve jumped here too! Hell, before you used the Insight on Reynolds and saw that fetch latched to him, you had no idea something like that existed. Now, do I think our murderer is one of them blood-sucking fuckers? Maybe, maybe not. But we both heard Stentstrom’s report and got a good look at the body. How else do you explain the missing blood? Did it magically disappear? No, something really fucked up happened in that alleyway.”

  He was right. We were missing too many facts, piecing together what little we knew in a vain attempt at understanding the truth. It was like trying to build a sandcastle on the beach during a hurricane.

  “And we don’t even know if this miracle drug you and Saranda went on about even exists,” Deacon said.

  “Maybe they haven’t finished it yet,” I answered, but without confidence. “Or maybe it’s something completely different, and we’re barking up the wrong tree. But I’m telling you, the blood is the key.”

  “Look, I believe in your Insight, or I wouldn’t be standing out in the fucking rain yammering on about this goddamn case,” the Confederate said. “But we don’t have the body anymore to corroborate any of this!”

  As he uttered the words, something clicked in my mind.

  “Holy shit!” I exclaimed. “This wasn’t just a homicide. It was a goddam theft!”

  Deacon gave me a blank stare.

  “Don’t you see?” I resumed pacing, excitement in my voice. “Whoever murdered Vanessa didn’t eat her blood. They stole it!”

  “With what?” Deacon asked. “A tube and an air pump?”

  “Maybe,” I said, rubbing at my dripping nose. “Look at the surveillance we found at Vanessa’s brownstone. You said it yourself that was some serious tech. Maybe these guys built a machine capable of draining all of the blood from a body.”

  “So, everything Tony and Julie told us was bullshit,” Deacon said, eyes widening as the realization dawned on him. “Son of a bitch! They saw what the murderer did, and how he did it!”

  “Has to be.” I nodded with certainty, then remembered something else. “Stentstrom kept some of Vanessa’s tissue samples. We need to have Besim examine them. Maybe she can discover what was being done to Vanessa.”

  I paused and glanced at Besim, whose face was aglow with the white and blue light from her holo-phone. She returned my gaze, her eyes glinting like a cat.

  “She’ll need her lab for that,” Deacon said slowly. “Stentstrom won’t take kindly to having more of his stuff removed from his custody.”

  “I’ll just ask nicely,” I replied with a grim smile. “Besides, we need to get after Julie before she skips town.”

  The rain pattered around us. I stared at the van, feeling equal parts cold and tired. A steaming cup of black brew with a mountain of sugar would’ve been real nice right about then.

  “Let’s see what’s in this van.” I turned toward the driver’s side door.

  Deacon stepped up to the window, took off one boot, and smashed the heel of it through the glass in three rapid blows. He grinned, put the boot back on, and moved to the side with a flourish. I chuckled, looking around to see if anyone noticed. All the attention remained on the apartment building half a block away.

  “Ain’t nothing here,” Deacon said after we searched the interior. “No records, no notes, nothing. Real pros.”

  “EVI checked the main office number, but it was disconnected,” I said, folding my arms across my chest. “Guys like this are paid in hard currency. I bet the serial numbers on their guns were filed off, so no way to track that, either. And the IDs you gave me could’ve been made in any number of places.”

  I slammed my hand against the side of the van in frustration with a loud thud.

  “Jesus Christ, Deacon! Who were these guys?”

  “Excuse me, Detective Holliday,” Besim called from outside the van.

  I poked my head out the back and said, “Yeah, what is it?”

  “I have made a few inquiries with some business associates who are involved with local commercial real estate,” Besim said.

  Prolonged exposure to the rain hadn’t been kind to her hair or makeup. She looked like a drowned mime. Foundation ran down her face in tragic lines of dark tears.

  “Oh?” I managed to keep a straight face.

  “The prior owner of the apartment building died in early April of this year, and the building subsequently put up for auction,” Besim explained, running a hand through her hair. She paused, regarding the dark dye covering her fingers with a frown, then looked up at me and continued. “It was acquired by Hyman and Associates LLC, an apartment management company. The new owner evicted all of the tenants, the last of whom vacated the premises less than three months ago.
”

  I wasn’t surprised. If my theories were correct, these were bad people with deep pockets and little spending sense.

  “Furthermore, Hyman is a shell corporation. Its owner, Franklin Hyman, is a fictitious name drawn from the enclave identification number of an Empire City businessman who died ten years ago. There are no other employees, or an office, other than a phone number that is no longer in service.”

  “You got all that from one call?” I asked dubiously.

  “My contact can be quite informative, when presented with the proper incentives,” she sniffed haughtily.

  “I don’t want to know,” I said, jumping out of the van. Deacon followed a moment later, shutting the doors behind him.

  In the distance, the exterior lighting increased outside of the apartment building. I pointed in the direction of the light. The media had arrived.

  “Leave the van,” I instructed. “Let’s get back to Leyla. We’ve got work to do.”

  Chapter 20

  Leyla sat cross-legged, frowning at her holo-rig, arms folded across her chest. She glanced up as we came aboard. The temperature inside the pod was noticeably chillier than outside. The internal digital thermometer displayed a balmy twenty-seven degrees. I raised the temperature. Small ice fragments flittered off my wet blazer like sparkling crystal raindrops. I turned to the beverage station, punched a button, and watched a steady stream of brown liquid gold pour sunshine into my mug. EVI confirmed the two dead cleaners were mercenaries whose last known whereabouts were somewhere in the Euro-Bloc.

  “At least the cleaners are gone,” Leyla commented, a slight quaver to her voice. “Score one for the good guys, right?”

  “Sure,” I muttered, taking the other command chair with a heavy sigh.

  The potent aftermath of adrenaline sloughed away bit by bit. My hands trembled as I replayed the deadly fight in my mind. It’d been a long time since I killed anyone, but I knew there’d be others before this case was over.

  Besim resumed her place near the back of the pod. I stole a glance toward the Vellan. She was composed, at ease, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. If Besim hadn’t smelled the blood and gun residue, we would’ve been caught flat-footed in the hallway when the cleaners arrived.

  She saved our lives.

  “They knew we were coming,” I stated, staring hard at the white knuckles of my clenched fist. I swallowed the coffee in two gulps. “We were lucky.”

  “Jesus,” Leyla breathed, eyes wide.

  Adding caffeine to my frayed nerves was probably not one of my brightest ideas. I had a penchant for collecting bad habits and decided not to turn a new leaf just then. It’d been a long day, and despite my catnap earlier, I was far from rested. A dull ache took up residence in my shoulders and neck. Thankfully, the caffeine was quick to reignite my internal engine.

  “So where does that leave us?” Leyla asked.

  I explained my latest theory on Julie and Tony, and Vanessa’s blood.

  “It’s a work in progress,” I conceded, pouring myself a second round. This one was noticeably colder than the first, but I chugged it anyway. Besides, I never questioned the java. I merely obeyed.

  “What if Kraze is just some random meeting place?” Leyla gave me a dubious look.

  “That is a distinct possibility, Leyla,” Besim chimed in softly. Her cosmetic travel kit rested unopened on her lap. “However, the digital evidence provided by Vanessa’s journal eluded the cleaners’ search of her premises. While the surveillance cameras would have continued to monitor Vanessa and her journal entries, it is unlikely the journal was ever discovered. You confirmed the workstation at the townhouse had been scoured. Vanessa had already removed the journal, leaving behind no trace of its whereabouts. It is also improbable the cleaners determined Vanessa secreted the micro-drive on the cat collar. Therefore, they would possess no knowledge of our awareness of its contents. Finally, Detective Holliday’s discovery of the lighter reinforces the nightclub as a place of interest, presuming it is indeed used for nefarious purposes.”

  I pointed two fingers at the consultant and belched, “What she said.”

  Leyla snorted in distaste, wrinkling her nose at me.

  “The Insight drew me to the lighter,” I continued, my tone sobering. “Planted or otherwise, it’s important.”

  “What if Julie isn’t there?” Leyla asked.

  “She’ll be there,” Deacon snarled with angry conviction.

  He removed a faded black baton from inside the jacket he wore and placed it on the control console with a loud thud.

  “Killing Tony created a shitstorm, and she knows it,” he continued, staring at the blunt weapon. “Time for her to cut bait and get the fuck out of Dodge.”

  I nodded in agreement. “Her image is out to all of the precincts in the enclave, so we’ll have more eyes than ours keeping a lookout. She’s not leaving Empire City.”

  I finished my coffee and poured a third cup.

  Third times the charm, right?

  “Keep an eye on that program.” I laid my hand on Leyla’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Rest up, if you can.”

  We exchanged a glance, and I hoped the apprehension I felt remained hidden.

  I instructed EVI to take us to Kraze, then moved to a command chair and set the mug down on the console near the baton. We sat in silence, me staring out the window at a massive, remorseless city made of steel and stone, and Deacon boring holes into the baton laying on the console with dark, brooding eyes.

  “How’re you holding up?” I asked, taking note of the ugly purple swelling around Deacon’s jaw.

  He regarded me with equal measures of amusement and annoyance.

  “I’ll be fine, Momma,” he chuckled. “It’s gonna take more than that to slow me down.”

  I gave him a wry smile.

  “Nice toy,” I remarked, turning my attention to the baton. “Was wondering what you were packing.”

  Deacon grinned fiercely. He hefted the baton by its worn grip.

  “Oh, this little darlin’?” he said in a sly voice. “She ain’t much to look at, but she got it where it counts.”

  “It looks solid enough,” I observed, taking special note of the strange shallow markings etched around its business end. “Why didn’t you use it against the cleaners?”

  For a moment, the markings gave off a soft silvery-blue glow. I blinked, and it was gone. A trick of the light?

  “It ain’t meant for them.” Deacon’s voice turned melancholy.

  “It reminds me of the old night sticks beat cops used before stun batons became all the rage,” I prompted. “Is it made of real wood?”

  The former Protector glanced at me with a sly smile.

  “There was this big ole oak in a corn field near where I grew up.” Deacon chuckled, lost to the memory. “My brother and me used to play there. Called it our ‘sanctuary,’ treated the place like it was holy ground. My old man even hung a swing on it.”

  Deacon stared at the old and battered piece of worked oak, a dark gleam to his eye. I caught a brief glimpse of the man behind the tough-guy façade, bearing an indomitable will, deep-seeded convictions, and profound scars. His fingers hovered above the weapon, his eyes lost to a faraway field, a tree, and people long gone.

  “And then, wouldn’t you know that goddamn tree got struck twice by lightning in the same night. Twice! What’re the odds? Anyways, after the storm, I took an axe to it. Harvested the wood myself.”

  His voice faded. The worry lines on his brow deepened.

  “This here is a consecrated weapon, Holliday,” he continued with a hint of reverence. “We don’t fuck around where I come from. I’ve only ever had to hit someone once with it to make my point. Blessed by the holiest of holies himself, the Grand Inquisitor, back when I was still wet behind the ears. Each Protector on his final communion is tasked with crafting a weapon that best fits his disposition, to signify the completion of their training. The materials that make up
the weapon bear significance of some kind to the maker, like a point in time, or a place. And we got all sorts of tools to mete out church justice, Holliday. Some messier than others.”

  His voice trailed off as a he regarded the truncheon.

  “So, I got me this,” he stated coldly. “The Grand Inquisitor blessed it and me in front of a few hundred of my former brothers and peers. There was a ceremony, lots of prayers, and all kinds of hootin’ and hollerin’. That fat bastard used to say the truncheon was just like me, a blunt instrument. Fucking asshole.”

  Deacon handed the truncheon to me, grip first. I held it with momentary trepidation, anticipating a bolt of lightning to streak down from the heavens and smite me dead.

  “It’s not heavy,” I remarked in surprise.

  “Yep. Ain’t no metal in it, neither,” Deacon said. “It don’t register with detectors, which comes in handy sometimes.”

  He lapsed into silence. I didn’t want to push him. Instead, I studied the man’s lined face. Some of those lines blended with old scars so you couldn’t tell where one ended, and others began. After this brief glimpse into Deacon Kole, I wondered how many more lay underneath.

  “Is that what the scrollwork represents?” I pointed at the markings. “Part of the consecration process?”

  “They’re more than ceremonial, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Deacon chuckled harshly. “When my righteous wrath comes down on my enemies, and if my cause is just, those runes’ll light up like a fucking Christmas tree and bring about some serious retribution.”

  “Wait, like Biblical proportions kind of wrath?”

  I’m not overly religious, but even I’ve read enough of the Old Testament to hold a healthy respect for what the Almighty could do if sufficiently pissed off.

  Deacon didn’t smile.

  “Ain’t nearly so dramatic,” he replied with that same sober expression on his face. “Trust me, Holliday, you ever get hit by a Protector’s weapon, you’ll know it.”