When Vamps Bite (Bedlam in Bethlehem Book 1) Page 2

  “Did you hear about the guy I pulled over a few nights ago?” Marlon asks.

  “No.” How she adds such breathlessness, wonder, and seduction to a single syllable I’ll never be able to replicate.

  I just shake my head.

  “So I’m driving on 378, and this guy blows past me. There weren’t any calls, so I was just killing time. He had to have been going seventy, eighty easily.”

  “I’m surprised traffic was so light that he could go that fast,” I remark.

  “Right? That’s what had me following him for a half mile. He never slowed, not even going up the hill or down it, heading toward Five Points.”

  “That’s crazy.” Mercedes gasps. For once, she’s not over-exaggerating. There’s always traffic there, and the speed limit is thirty-five.

  “I pulled him over and forced him onto a side street. Got out of my car and knocked on his window.” Marlon is glancing between me and Mercedes, ensuring that we’re both listening.

  He pauses and takes a long swallow.

  “The suspense is killing me,” Mercedes groans, laying a manicured hand on his knee.

  “I don’t know.” I give him what I hope looks like an unimpressed but teasing smirk. “I think you’re hyping this up too much, that the payoff’s gonna be weak.”

  “Trust me. You won’t believe what happened.”

  “Oh, yeah? Next round on you if I’m right. Next on me if your story wows me.”

  “And you’re such an impartial judge.” His dark eyes twinkle like the stars that shone down on me earlier before the clouds rolled in.

  Before I might’ve seen something unexplainable.

  No, not unexplainable. No one had been there in the first place. My imagination saw something in the shadows that had never existed. Or the man sneaked out behind graves. Maybe I’ll swoop by the cemetery in the morning to make sure there’s no evidence of grave robbing or tampering.

  Man, I must be more unnerved than I thought if I can’t concentrate on Marlon and his story. I shake my head clear of my wondering thoughts.

  “I’ll be the judge,” Mercedes interjects.

  She just can’t go more than two seconds without talking.

  “Fine.” Marlon grins at her.

  You know what? He knows. He knows we’re fighting over him, and he either loves it or it doesn’t faze him. Normally we’re not so pitifully obvious.

  “So you walk over to his car…” I prompt, eager to win. I have a major competitive edge. Better finish my drink so he can get me another one. It’s a little bitter. I forgot to ask for a splash of grenadine.

  “He’s all jumpy and jittery. His finger fumbles to press the button to roll down his window. A huge cloud of smoke comes out, and his car reeks.”

  “Marijuana?” Mercedes guesses.

  “Nope. I ask him where he was off to in such a rush. Get this. He says he’s in a rush to get his wife to the hospital.” Marlon stares at her and then me with a blank look on his face. I can’t read what he’s about to say, but I know now that I’m sunk. Sure enough, he finishes with, “He was alone in the car.”

  “Was he supposed to meet her at the hospital?” Mercedes asks.

  “No.” I crack up. “He forgot his wife at home.”

  “You got it. I gave him a ride back to his place and picked her up. Yeah, she was ready to pop. Pop him right in the kisser. I got her there and safely to St. Luke’s.”

  “The smell?” Mercedes asks.

  “A cigar. He gave me the unfinished one and one he hadn’t lit. I gave him back his, but he tossed it right into the trashcan on his way inside the hospital. He refused to let a nurse wheel his wife. Had to do it himself. I have a feeling he’s going to be changing all the diapers for a long time.” Marlon laughs. I love the sound, so deep and booming. “Well?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Want another whiskey?” I lift a finger and catch the bartender’s eye.

  “Yeah.”

  I motion toward Marlon’s empty glass and mine.

  Mercedes pouts. “No refill for me?”

  I glare at her. “Only if I pick the drink.”

  “Not arsenic.”

  The bartender plops the drinks down, and I quickly slide mine over to her. “Another one of these,” I say, tapping my old glass, “with grenadine, please.”

  He nods. After grabbing some beers for a rowdy bunch of guys a few chairs down from us, he brings me mine.

  Score. Yes. Sweet cherry goodness along with Sailor Jerry. Perfect.

  “So you’re the baby whisperer?” I ask Marlon.

  “I am not,” he protests.

  “Didn’t you have that domestic abuse call when the couple lost their baby and you found him?”

  “Yes,” he admits slowly.

  “What happened?” Mercedes doesn’t sound like she’s being fake invested.

  “This couple fought so much that the baby must’ve gotten scared. He crawled away, under the table, somehow got through the gate to the kitchen, and went through the dog door. He was around the side of the house. That ended their initial argument for a new one about who left the gate undone. The first time they had been called on. Honestly, they just seemed a little stressed out about having a baby who’s now mobile. This was, what, five months ago? No calls since, and I drive by every now and again just to check and give a listen.”

  “See. Baby whisper.”

  “Seeing a guy hold a baby just does something for me.” Mercedes bites her lower lip suggestively.

  “I’m surprised you remembered that, Clarissa,” Marlon says.

  That’s because I remember everything you tell me.

  “I’m part elephant. I never forget.”

  “That explains your big nose,” Mercedes mumbles. Even though she’s not next to me, I can still hear her, which means Marlon can, too.

  Don’t stoop to her level. Don’t stoop—

  I drain my drink so I don’t say anything petty. Rising above. Like cream. The cream of the crop.

  Mom would be proud.

  But that smug, vicious grin on her face makes me want to use her sleeves as a napkin. Yeah, it’s impossible to eat wings and not get it on your fingers. At least I don’t think I have anything on my face.

  By the time I finish eating, I can’t put it off. Only two drinks and I have to break the seal. At least I can check my face and wash my hands, too.

  “Gotta run to the little girl’s room. Hold my seat?”

  “Sure.” Marlon’s grin should come with a warning.

  “Hold up.” Mercedes leans down to grab her purse and gives Marlon a deep view of her cleavage.

  Ugh.

  I dutifully wait for her, and we maneuver our way to the bathroom. Immediately, she goes to the mirror and fiddles with her hair while I make a beeline for the nearest stall. Once done, I head to the other sink and wash up. Nothing on my cheeks or chin, thank goodness, but my lips are stained red from the hot sauce. Not my best look, but it’s not like I’m gonna be kissed tonight.

  Scrubbing my lips reddens them even more, and Mercedes just sighs. “You should give it up. You’re so not in his league.”

  “Oh, and you are?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  Gah. She sounds like one of those Valley girls.

  “Look,” I say, not intimidated in the slightest. “I’m from the South Side. You don’t wanna mess with me.”

  “Are you threatening me?” Her eyes narrow to tiny dark slits.

  “You’re not gonna give up. I’m not gonna give up. He’s not a piece of meat, Mercedes. He might not want either of—“

  “Of course he wants me. Did you see the way he can’t look at my face?”

  Wanting you in bed for a one-night stand isn’t the same as wanting to marry you. I know your type. You’ll ensnare him, sleep with him, and then dump him. Just another notch in your lipstick case. I actually like him. He’s funny and kind and a good guy. He’s strong and brave. He’ll make a great boyfriend… a great husband.

  “Wha
t do you have to offer him?” Mercedes lifts her nose. “You’re married to your work. You really think you can cheat on the job with him?”

  “You know what, Mercedes?” I shouldn’t engage her, but I can’t help myself. “If he would prefer someone who has no brain and no heart, he’s welcome to have you. I don’t have to have a guy to feel good about myself.”

  “Oh, hon, don’t act like you aren’t lonely. You go home to that empty house and have no one to call or text or anything. Do you even have FB?”

  She knows I do. Not that we’re friends, of course. It would drive me nuts if I had to see her zillion selfies and duck faces. How can guys think that’s attractive? Maybe guys think it’s as hilarious as I do and don’t let anyone know so they can continue to laugh about it.

  Whatever. I have friends, and since she isn’t one, I don’t care about her opinion of me.

  Then again, I do know she’s gonna bad mouth me to Marlon and probably the rest of the department. Maybe I should play nice.

  So I whip out my phone. “I can send you a friend request right now.”

  And promptly unfollow her.

  Gah, she has over a thousand friends. Really? Who has that many? It makes my one-hundred-and-sixty-seven look even more pathetic.

  She huffs, rolls her eyes, but removes her cell from her bra.

  Seriously? Girls really do use them to store things in? Because I’m sure that’s real attractive if you bring a guy home. Wait a second. I have to clear everything out of my bra first. No, I can’t just have you remove it. You’ll drop everything, my cell, my lucky rabbit foot…

  I can’t help snorting at that mental image.

  Mercedes sighs and shoves her cell back into her bra. Maybe I should just be grateful she’s wearing one. “Laughing at jokes that no one else hears is a sign of craziness, you know.”

  “Laughter is the best medicine, you know.” I can’t help it. She brings out my inner snarkiness.

  “So now you’re a doctor?” She removes lipstick from her cleavage and applies a thick coat of reddish-purple.

  “Nah. Not smart enough.”

  “And pretending to be modest.” Mercedes sighs again and turns to me. “Actually, I do have to give you some credit. You’ve managed to let Marlon and I talk some. Normally you go on and on and on about all of your arrests. Look. We know you’re a decent cop, but luck only runs so far in this biz.”

  Luck? I have the best arrest to prosecution rate of anyone in the precinct! That’s not luck. It’s skill!

  And maybe a little bit of a God complex or something like that. I forgot the exact term my one-time shrink called it. I have issues. Everyone does. Mine mostly stem from my intense drive and need to round up goons and lock them up. The police did round up my parents’ murderer, so it’s not like it’s a cold, unsolved case. The officers in charge had been great but refused to let me help much at all. According to my shrink, because I hadn’t been involved in the investigation, I’m trying to “re-solve” their case with each arrest.

  I’ve been working my way up the ranks to hopefully be in homicide soon. That’s my goal. I’ve been doing so great in vice. Maybe it’ll happen soon, especially since Grant is moving up north to Scranton.

  It would mean leaving Marlon behind, but it would also mean leaving Mercedes behind, too, and I can handle that. Besides, it’s not as if the vice unit and homicide never work together.

  “If I didn’t know you better, Mercedes,” I say, grinning broadly, “I would say green is very much your color.”

  “Green does look…” Her lips twist into a frown.

  I wiggle my fingers in a slight wave and duck out of the bathroom, walking fast to mask my laugh.

  By now, Marlon is talking to a few ladies I’ve never seen before. They’re trying to take my seat and Mercedes’, but he’s holding them back. He’s visibly relieved when I walk over, but I motion for the bartender to give me back my card. I’ve had enough snark for one night. The place is even more crowded now, and I can’t breathe. I need to get out of here.

  “Cutting out early?”

  “Need more beauty sleep,” I offer by way of excuse.

  “You sure do. Those dark circles under your eyes, hon.” Mercedes has made her way back.

  I want to remark that if she keeps frowning so much, she’ll deepen the lines around her mouth. Nah, I’m bigger than that. Instead, I just smile.

  Marlon clinks his glass against mine, and I swallow down the rest of my drink. It burns slightly, despite the grenadine.

  I squeeze his shoulder, wiggle my fingers at Mercedes again. She smirks back as she “accidentally” bumps into Marlon while taking her seat beside him. Disgusted, I leave the bar area. One of the other girls immediately claims my seat. Her friend is flirting with a guy, who offers her his seat. Not to be chivalrous, I’m sure.

  As the hostess opens the door for me, a raspy voice calls out, “Clarissa.”

  I try to smile as I face Travis, but I can’t.

  “You all right?” he asks quietly.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He grimaces and rubs that back of his neck. He’s a scarecrow, tall and lanky, a runner through and through. His elbows have met more than a few drug dealers’ guts, all boney. “Ah… You need anything?”

  Now I do grin. “I have a hot date.”

  Travis blinks a few times. “You do?”

  “Why is that so surprising?”

  The corner of his lip curls upward. “Two dates, right? Ben and Jerry’s?”

  I groan and slap my forehead. “You know me too well.”

  “I also know what today is.”

  “Yeah, well…” My head feels heavy. I so want to get home.

  A crowd pushes through, and I take that chance to leave. Travis is a great guy, but he doesn’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.

  Not fine enough to drive, though.

  I’ll leave my car here and get it tomorrow. An Uber won’t be here for at least fifteen minutes. In my experience, fifteen minutes really means a half hour, so I start hoofing it home on foot. The cool wind and the dropping temperature sober me right up. It’s not like I had a lot to drink anyhow.

  The night is crazy busy yet in the center of the city. It doesn’t take me long to leave the commercial district behind. Most of the houses I pass are dark.

  I turn down another block. The street light flickers, recreating that eerie sense from the cemetery. I’m not the least bit afraid. I can take on anyone.

  I near Five Points. Maybe I should just stop at Mickey D’s to get ice cream.

  One look at the parking lot, though, and I opt not to. Way too crowded. The line for the drive-through is even worse, not that I was the kind of person to walk through it. Nope. I stopped doing that after I graduated the academy.

  Two blocks down, and I halt, my hand sliding toward my gun. I won’t draw it unless I need to, but something isn’t right. I just know it. Call it a sixth sense. Call it a premonition. Call it anything you want, but just don’t call it luck.

  Some mumbling, a grunt, and the rustling of clothing have me wondering if a couple is enjoying some alone time.

  Or a prostitute is operating out of the alley.

  Or a drug deal is going down. I’m in vice. My mind always goes to drugs.

  Maybe I’m looking to be productive and delay returning to the empty house waiting for me. Either way, I’m unwilling to pass up the chance to investigate.

  Maybe a little bit frightened since I am alone without backup, I enter the alley. The dim lighting from the street lamps doesn’t illuminate the area, adding to a sense of doom.

  Despite the darkness, I can still make out two forms. The mumbling and grunting have stopped, but I hear a near sound. It’s almost like slurping.

  What in the world?

  Confused, dismayed, I opt for my flashlight and then bring out my gun, too.

  The artificial illumination is harsh. It takes my eyes a moment to register what I’m seeing, to the terrifying
, repugnant scene in front of me.

  A man holds a woman, his face buried against her neck in what should be a tender pose.

  Except the woman is lifeless in his arms, blood trailing down her clothing.

  He isn’t kissing her.

  He’s biting her.

  Chapter 3

  The stench of blood sears my nose as I level my gun. “Step away from her!” I demand, disgusted and dismayed, my voice strong and loud in the silent alley.

  The man doesn’t back away, but he pauses long enough to give me a most chilling smile. His teeth, long and sharp, are covered in blood. More smears his chin, making him look like something from a horror flick. After a second, he resumes… feeding? What exactly is he doing?

  “Put your hands up and back away from her. This is the police.” My threat echoes along the dark, dank alley. A rodent scurries by, but I inch closer, honed in on the perp.

  Who is ignoring me. The stench of blood grows, churning my stomach. Her once-white blouse is stained a dark red. Where is her coat? Where is her purse? This seems wrong on so many levels.

  “If you don’t leave her alone right now, I’m going to shoot. I’ll count to five. One…” I take another step toward them, my gun aimed at his head.

  Probably shouldn’t go for a kill shot. Not considering how weak the woman seems to be. She’s not moving, her arms like jelly. He’s the only thing holding her upright.

  “Two…” Shifting my hands, I alter the gun’s target to his knee.

  As if he realizes this, he moves his leg so hers covers his.

  What a…

  Is she still alive? I should call this in, but I can’t risk looking away. This guy is toying with her and with me. He’s got something up his sleeve. I’m sure of it. My goon radar is going off the charts.

  “Three… four…” My finger gets ready to pull the trigger.

  And he’s gone. I blink, and he’s nowhere to be seen.

  Dismayed, I lower my gun and arch the illumination from the flashlight through the alley, searching for him.

  He really is just gone.

  Fighting back a growing sense of apprehension, I shine the light back on the woman. Her lifeless body is crumpled on the ground. I hold my gun and flashlight in one hand and use the other to yank out my cell. Bending beside the woman, I check for a pulse and find nothing. I call dispatch for an ambulance and backup, chaining my request to the ME.