Lover Unveiled, page 16
“As you hear yourself talk, you realize how insane you’re behaving, but your heart isn’t going to let it rest, so you have to divert things. It’s fine. We can look at my injuries again. But I don’t think we should ignore what’s actually happening here.”
“You don’t know a damn thing about me.”
“You’re right. I’m totally off base. So by all means, let’s check me out because I’m the one who needs help.”
With that happy little pronouncement, Sahvage took the ends of his shirt and did not look away as he slowly raised the damn thing… revealing that tattoo and all the musculature under his inked skin. As he tossed what had covered his torso aside, he resettled back in the chair like he was fully naked. Like he was absolutely confident in his body. Like he was very aware she couldn’t not notice what he was showing her.
And respond to it.
FFS, with his chest now bare, he seemed to be even larger, and Mae swallowed through a tight throat. But not because she was afraid.
No, fear wasn’t the problem. Not even close.
“Come tend to my wounds,” he said in a low murmur. “And by the way, you can touch me anywhere. You know, for clinical purposes. Far be it from me to deny any assessments as to my health and overall well-being.”
Mae blinked. Then recovered. “You are an ass.”
“Yeah, I know.” He leaned in and lowered his lids. “But you want me anyway.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Deep in the heart of downtown, Detective Erika Saunders pulled her unmarked over to the side of an alley that ran between two apartment buildings. Putting things in park, her headlights shed a whole lot of lookey-lookey on a boxy black SUV that was snuggled up close to a dumpster. Over to the left, there were a couple of uniformed officers milling around, and a patrol car was blocking the entrance off Trade. No news crews.
That was not going to last.
Getting out, she snapped on nitrile gloves and palmed her flashlight. The unis fell silent as she approached, and she gave them a nod as she zeroed in on the SUV’s driver’s-side door.
“When was this called in?” she said as she trained the beam inside the vehicle—or tried to. The windows were blacked out.
Leaning around to the hood, without touching the side of the vehicle, she pointed her flashlight in through the front windshield—
Fuck.
She didn’t even hear what the reply to her question was from the officers. She was too caught up in the man and the woman who were sitting side by side in the front seats. The pair were prime-of-life candidates, although the whole “life” part of that descriptor was no longer applicable. And what do you know, the bodies had massive wounds in the centers of their chests, their clothes stained with blood, their laps soup bowls for all the congealing plasma.
Erika moved in closer to the safety glass, so she could see further into the vehicle. In between the seats, on the padded console, their hands were linked, the dead fingers intermingled. And up on the headrests, they were looking at other, their unseeing eyes focused on the space between their waxy, gray faces.
Erika swept the flashlight around. The young man was shirtless, a collection of tattoos randomly inked on his torso and down his arms, like someone had thrown a book of illustrations at his skin. He was muscular but thin, a wiry guy who was probably just around six feet. He reminded her of Pete Davidson. Next to him, the woman was voluptuous in her bustier, with some really good hair. Gold bamboo earrings. Nose piercing. Tattoos, but not as dense as the guy’s and much more curvilinear.
They looked like they belonged together, sexy, into the club scene. Probably dabbled in drugs, but not too often given their otherwise state of good health.
“My killer’s certainly got a type,” Erika said as she went to open the car door. “Who called this in?”
“Jogger,” one of the officers said from behind her.
The air that was released was dense, smelling like cologne, perfume, blood, and fecal matter.
Erika inspected the hole in the guy’s sternum. Then she touched his cold neck with the fingertips of her gloved hand. No pulse. No shit. “And when was this called in again?”
“About twenty-five minutes ago. Maybe thirty.”
“They’ve been here a while.”
“Expensive ride. I’m surprised it didn’t get stripped.”
Easing back, Erika inspected the vehicle. “Mercedes. Blacked-out rims, blacked-out windows. I wouldn’t have messed with it, either, for fear of which street dealer owned it—oh, and what do we have here.”
A Louis Vuitton wallet had fallen out of the guy’s pocket and was perched on the lip between the lower part of the doorjamb and the base of the driver’s seat. Reaching in, she took the billfold out, and handled it carefully. Opening the front flap, she slid free a driver’s license.
“Ralph Anthony DeMellio.” Address was in the Italian part of Caldwell. “Twenty-two. So damned young.”
She pictured the couple from the Commodore. And the two other pairs who had been killed similarly. All of the victims had been around this age, in their twenties. And all of them were part of the trendy, wealthy scene. And all of them had been loved up.
“He’s finding them in clubs,” she murmured as she slid the license back into its slot. “Maybe for sex. Or maybe that’s where they cross his path and get ID’d as prey. Then he follows them home or somewhere quiet…”
She glanced around the alley. In this part of downtown, things were pretty well kept and crime was low. So there were going to be security cameras that were operational—and there were also a lot of apartment windows, although most of them had shades or blinds down.
While she was starting her mental follow-up list, a gray Crown Vic came on scene, and as the uniformed officers put their arms up to shield their eyes, its headlights were turned off. After the unmarked rolled to a stop, all kinds of stereotypical FBI got out: Gray suit and a black tie. Buzz cut. 1950s jawline.
Special Agent Deiondre Delorean was a zero-body-fat, straight-shouldered man with a degree from Howard and a military intelligence background that was still very much in his foreground.
He immediately took a look inside the SUV. “Another one.”
“I’d say three couple’s a charm, but we’re up to four now.”
“That you know about.”
“Point taken.” She showed him the driver’s license. “I want to be the one who speaks with the parents. They’ve been waiting for him to come home all day long. You’re welcome to ride with me, but I’m going to do the talking.”
“And here I thought your reputation might be overexaggerated.” Deiondre inspected the ID and then leveled a stare at her. “I’ve done family informing a few times myself, you know.”
“And I’ve been on the receiving end of that horrible conversation with authorities. Have you?”
His eyes grew remote. “I’m sorry about your family.”
“It was fourteen years ago. I’m over it. And guess you’ve done your homework.”
“FBI, remember.”
On the periphery, the two unis started looking at their shoes, like Mom and Dad were fighting. But if Erika worried about how people felt around her, her days would be eight hours longer and her temper two yards shorter.
“And how do you know his parents are waiting for him?” Deiondre asked.
“Address is in the Jersey Gardens neighborhood. That’s not where young people live on their own. It’s where older people live with their adult children in the basement. I’ll bet his parents probably thought Ralph was at the girlfriend’s house all day and that’s why they haven’t heard from him. But they’re starting to worry now that it’s been over twelve hours since they’ve talked to him.”
Deiondre leaned into the car. “Same M.O. But maybe this pair are just a one-night stand and they were posed.”
“The other three couples were serious about each other, and our investigation is going to show the same here. My killer goes for people in love.”
Putting the wallet back where she’d found it on the floorboard, she went around the rear with her flashlight and then proceeded down the opposite side of the SUV, squeezing in between it and the sweaty wall of the taller of the apartment buildings. No scratches on the glossy paint job. No bumper stickers, parking lot passes, or even a dealer frame on the new-car temporary plate.
There wasn’t enough room to open the passenger-side door, so she exited the narrow space and came out around the front grille.
Deiondre had his cell phone up to his ear, and she had a thought that he was bringing in federal crime scene people.
Back next to Ralph DeMellio’s body, Erika stretched her arm under the steering wheel, making sure not to brush up against anything. The ignition button was on the far side of the steering column, and she had to poke around for it. When her fingers finally found the circular button, she pressed the thing.
A no-key warning flashed on the dash.
Carefully extricating herself, she shook her head. “They took the key.”
“What was that?” Deiondre asked as he ended his call.
“They left the car unlocked and took the key.” She opened the backseat door and trained her flashlight in. “Well, would you look at this.”
“You got a weapon?”
Deiondre tilted in next to her—and joined her in checking out all the neat-as-a-pin: No litter in the foot wells, no errant clothing wads or running shoes. No gym bag.
Erika breathed in deep. “Smells like new car. Or at least new to him. He must have just bought this vehicle—real pride-and-joy stuff.”
“We’re going to his parents’ house together.”
Erika stepped back and stared at the SUV. “I’m going to catch this motherfucker. I’m going to nail him to the fucking wall before he does this again.”
* * *
Nate prayed like hell that Mrs. Mary drove to Luchas House fast and then flat-out ran across that field to the forest. As she couldn’t dematerialize, it was going to be twenty minutes. Or more. Especially if she followed the speed limit, and he had a feeling she would.
“It could be twenty minutes,” he said to the female. “Before she comes.”
Please don’t leave—
Without warning, the female jumped and stumbled back, putting her hands up to shield herself. On a surge of protection, Nate wrenched around—
Instead of panicking—or going on the attack, which was actually his first instinct—he got a good shot of relief. And the Black Dagger Brother who had materialized into the clearing was actually not much of a surprise, even if his imposing presence was a thing.
“Rhage,” Nate said. And then he put his palms out to reassure the female. “Don’t worry, he’s with me. I’m with him. I mean—”
The Brother smiled at her and raised his hands. “Worry not. I am a friend.”
The female tilted her head. “How do I know that? You are armed.”
“Not against you. And never against him.”
As they threw out unfamiliar syllables, Nate went back and forth, playing a what-are-they-saying tennis match as they spoke in that language. And though he had no idea what they were talking about, he did notice that their accents were the same—and most importantly, the female wasn’t leaving and she was less scared.
So hey, as far as he was concerned, the two could pull up some chairs and gab all night long.
Rhage switched to English. “My shellan is coming. I’m here to make sure you’re safe—and he’s safe.”
“Is he your son—” The female clapped her mouth shut.
Nate frowned. “You could understand me all along?” As she looked away, he glanced at Rhage—as if the Brother could explain why she’d fronted. “The whole time?”
“I did not know… what to do,” she whispered.
“It’s okay. It’s all right.” Nate cleared his throat. “I’m just glad—well, you can trust Mrs. Mary. And the Brother Rhage.”
Her eyes widened at the fighter. “You are a member of the Black Dagger Brotherhood?”
Rhage opened his leather jacket and flashed the pair of daggers that were strapped, handles down, to his huge chest. “I am.”
The female exhaled. “Thanks be to the Scribe Virgin.”
“Listen,” Rhage said, “if you’re okay with it, I’d like to suggest we head over thataway. We have a house there. We’ve got some food and drink to offer you, and it’s totally safe.”
Nate frowned. “But there are a lot of workmen on-site—”
“Not when I tell them to go, there won’t be. Can you walk her back to Luchas House?”
Nate blinked. And then flushed.
“Oh, yes, I can, yes, I will—” He locked his molars shut. “I mean, if it’s all right with her? Or, you. I mean.”
Shit.
The female looked back and forth between the two of them. “Yes, of course it is, but I do not want to cause trouble—”
“It’s no trouble,” Nate interjected.
“None at all.” Rhage clapped his palms together. “I’m going to go clear the house. Nate, take care of her, will you?”
The urge to stand at attention and salute was nearly irresistible. And his backup to that ridiculousness was the idea of offering the female his arm, like he was somebody special. Like he could do anything to defend her.
As he settled for nodding at the Brother, Rhage gave them a wave and dematerialized—which meant… they were alone again.
“It’s over there,” Nate said as he pointed through the trees to the meadow and the distant lights of the house. As if there were another destination option?
The female nodded and came closer to him—and he was so stunned to see her move and scent her up close that he stood where he was like his boots had been nailed to the ground. Meanwhile, she passed him by—and then stopped and looked back.
“Sorry.” He rubbed his hair. “I mean, here I come.”
Together, they walked out of the trees and into the field. And that was when she stopped again. As she scanned the open area, she seemed so solitary. So sad.
If she had somewhere else to go, someone who she could trust, she wouldn’t be here, he thought. Anybody would connect with a family member or a friend if they had one—
As she went to walk forward again, her foot caught on a tangle of dead weeds, and he reached out for her arm to make sure she didn’t fall.
“Careful,” he said as he caught her balance and promptly let her go.
With hands that shook, she pulled her hood up higher on her blond hair. “Forgive me.”
“Oh, there’s nothing to apologize for. Everyone trips. I—ah, what did you say your name was?”
She hadn’t, actually. But he didn’t want to come across as demanding.
And when the sounds of their feet schmucking through pockets of mud were the only thing that came back in reply, he felt like maybe he had been.
They were halfway to Luchas House when her voice, quiet and heavily accented, drifted across to him. “Elyn. Please call me Elyn.”
“That’s beautiful—” He cleared his throat. “I mean, wow.”
He took a test glance at her in case she was staring at him like he was a creeper, but she wasn’t. She was clearly deep in thought, her brows down over her eyes, even as she didn’t appear to be focused on anything specific in front of her. And as they fell silent again, Nate’s brain hot-fired to find conversation… except all he got were no-go’s—and the fact that he couldn’t come up with anything even remotely normal to say made him realize what a frickin’ mutant he was.
But like he’d been socialized in that lab? By anything other than the white coats who’d been experimenting on him and that television they’d let him watch?
Lost in bad things, he came out of his trance as they arrived at the split-rail fence. He had a thought about lifting the top one off for her, but she slipped through the beams quick as a whistle and waited on the other side for him.
“This is a nice farmhouse, huh,” he mumbled. Because he had to say something or he was going to explode. “I’m working on it—well, worked on it. We’re basically done with the renovations.”
As he led her around to the front walkway, he thought of her accent. It was really fancy, like his dad’s. Like Rhage’s. She probably wasn’t going to be impressed with a blue-collar job like the one he’d been doing. And as all that he did not have to offer females in general, and her specifically, crashed against the shores of his self-esteem, he got as quiet as she was.
Yup, this was not how his fantasies had played things out. Which was proof positive you shouldn’t let wishful thinking get in the way of reality. In his daydreams? He’d found her out by that pit and invited her for a meal at that 24-hour diner he and Shuli hit after work sometimes. Over hamburgers and slices of apple pie, they talked about everything and nothing at all until right before it became too dangerous to stay out—and just before the sun rose, he took her back to her parents’ house, where she gave him her number and told him to call during the day.
It was all the start of a beautiful romance… that culminated in, one week to the hour of their first date, him kissing her. Softly. While they stood on her back doorstep.
And because it was all just a fantasy, that kiss happened to be, in spite of him having absolutely no idea what he was doing, totally perfect for the both of them—
“Hi, you guys!”
As Mrs. Mary greeted them from the front door of the farmhouse, she waved and stepped out into the pool of warm illumination thrown by an exterior coach light. The good news was that Rhage’s female was exactly what anyone would want to see if they were looking for a safe haven: Her face was open and her smile sincere—which made her seem like somebody who’d be good at giving hugs.
No false advertising there.
Abruptly, people started talking. Mary. Rhage. And one of the social workers, Rhym, who also joined the group. Elyn stayed mostly silent, but she didn’t seem frightened.
Nate took a step back. Through the open doorway, he saw that furniture had been arranged in the living room, and, off in the distance, the kitchen as well. Everything looked cozy. Safe.
