Larkin tore into Spencer’s driveway, giving his old, white clunker an affectionate pat as he flew out of the car door and took the steps to Spencer’s apartment two at a time.
He’d known all along Joffrey had something to do with the deaths of Alan and the others. He just couldn’t prove it, but now he had an eyewitness who’d seen Joffrey and Alan leave the Hole together the night of Alan’s death. If nothing else, it was a start.
He’d questioned a bartender today who’d been on vacation when Larkin had first started asking around about Alan and now all he had to do was find the freak and—and—well, he didn’t know and what at this point. How was he going to explain a vampire to the local police? How was he going to take on a vampire?
Hell, Spencer had nearly broken his wrist in the Hole and she was a girl vampire.
Larkin straightened suddenly, pushing his shoulders back. He’d be fucked and feathered if he’d ever admit that again—even in his mind.
Speaking of girl vampires, where was his girl vampire? Spencer’s apartment door was wide open and the small chair she had by the door was knocked over.
Wait a second…his girl vampire?
All right, Larkin admitted, he wouldn’t try to avoid what was in his gut and that was Spencer.
Spencer, Spencer, Spencer.
Spencer the vampire.
He kinda dug Spencer the vampire like no other chick he’d ever dug before.
So where the hell was Spencer the vampire and why was her door open and why was he worrying about being in love with her when he could smell trouble with his cop nose?
His pulse raced as adrenaline kicked in and he paused to think about when he’d last picked up any kind of signal in his head from Spencer.
She was coming here to her apartment to take a bath…
Where the hell are you, Spencer? And what the hell is going on? Were his mind reading skills waning? Why couldn’t he pick her up in his head?
Larkin spied a piece of paper blowing around on the kitchen floor and scooped it up, skimming it then crumpling it in his hand with a tight fist.
Rage, heavy and thick, coursed through his veins as he fought to regain his impartiality, allowing the cop in him to take over. He had to think clearly and that note told him he’d better do it posthaste.
Someone had taken her out of here by force. The struggle was evident. She’d never leave her door wide open, especially with everything that had been going on as of late.
Joffrey. It had to be Twilight. His gut burned with it.
But where would he go with her? Where would he take Spencer was what worried Larkin as his feet flew back down the steps and he jumped into his car.
If Joffrey’d harmed one hair—one little hair on her pretty head, he’d damn well stake him to a tree at daybreak with thumbtacks and giggle while the motherfucker fried.
Fuck. Larkin slammed his fist against the steering wheel as he pulled out of Spencer’s apartment complex and headed toward nowhere. He drove aimlessly as he tried to think. She wouldn’t be at the Hole. That’s where Ethan’s note said for Spencer to meet him, but Joffrey wouldn’t take her there now.
Concentrate. He needed to focus all of his energy on tracking Spencer down.
Larkin took a deep breath and pictured Spencer in his mind and if she was going to hear anything right now, it may as well be the truth.
“Look, if you can hear me, Spencer, wherever you are, I love you,” Larkin said to the interior of his car.
There, he’d said it. Spencer might not be able to hear him, but when he found her night dwelling butt he was going to tell her in person.
You’re just saying that because danger is imminent and you don’t want me to die without hearing the words, you lying puke.
Larkin stuck his finger in his ear. She could hear him? Spencer could hear him? What the hell? I am not, he defended himself.
I do love you and what did I tell you about calling names? It’s rude and you’ll hurt my human feelings. I do love you, baby.
Oh, you do not.
Do so.
Not.
So.
N—
Woman, hush! Now isn’t the time to fight over my declaration of love. I need your thoughts clear. You can tell me later what the hell is happening here, like how come you can hear me now too. So muzzle that pretty yap and tell me where the hell you are so I can ride in on my white horse and kick Joffrey’s lily white ass!
You don’t have a white horse, Detective. You have a white piece of crap that needs to be cleaned—fumigated!
Honey?
What?
Shaddup.
Okay, sorry. I’m in some house. It’s old and smelly.
Vampire?
What?
You can’t smell…
I know that. Don’t rub it in, Sherlock. Joffrey said it smelled.
Okay, so maybe a cabin or something, an old house? Somewhere that’s been locked up a long time?
Yes! Joffrey said it was musty and damp.
Good girl.
I can tell you the basement is dark and it ha—s—Ohhh!
What? What’s wrong? Talk to me, honey!
Spideeeeeeeers! Oh, God, Larkin, get here soon or I’ll die of arachnophobia!
Honey, you’re not afraid of dead bodies, but you’re afraid of spiders?
Dead bodies don’t—ohhh! Ick! Dead bodies don’t moooove—on creee—py leeeeegs!
Okay, just focus. Tell me more.
About the spiders? They’re disgusting and they have a bazillion legs and some are really eyeing me up from the corner here and—
Babe! Get a grip. Breathe. I need more details about where you are. Details, Spence. Where?
If I knew that, don’t you think I’d Vulcan mind meld it to you? I was in the trunk of his car, for Christ sake—I don’t have X-ray vision and he left that damn blindfold on me until we got in here.
Okay, listen to me. Did you hear anything on the way there? Gravel crunching? Birds chirping? Sounds of a city? Anything?
Oh! Yes, I heard gravel under the tires and the air was cooler here than back in Easton. Oh! Rushing water. I heard rushing water. You know, like a brook or stream?
That’s my girl. I’d bet my eyeteeth you’re somewhere near I-36.
Well, could you hurry up?
Larkin didn’t want to think about the possibility that he was wrong and she wasn’t near I-36. But it made sense. It was where both Alan and Brian had been found.
Okay, baby, now stay with me. Keep talking to me.
Oh—oh—kaaayy!
Spencer, honey, relax, it’s okay. You’re a big, bad vampire—you can kick the little spiders’ asses on any given day of the week.
Yes. I’m a big bad vampire. Okay, breathing…Oooohhh!!
Spencer! Talk to me.
How the hell am I supposed to talk to you when these squirelly-ass spiders are every-freakin’-where? I can’t think there are so many. I hate them.
I know, babe. Focus on me. Tell me what Joffrey said before he threw you in the trunk. How did he do that anyway? What happened to all of that vampire, kick-ass, Bruce Lee like moves?
Larkin could almost hear Spencer sigh in his head in exasperation. He’s stronger than I am, Larkin. Older, I suppose, too. I couldn’t take him. He was a hundred times more powerful than I am and he had me in no time. He really whacked me on the head…I didn’t wake up until I heard the car stop and that was when I heard the gravel crunch under the tires.
The motherfucker hit you? I’ll kill him. I swear to God, I’ll rip his Vogue cover, vampire head off—
Larkin!
What?
Shut up, Terminator, and listen carefully to me. Joffrey is old and extremely powerful. He’ll kill you, Larkin, and we can’t have that. Ethan is here, too…
Ethan?
Yes, Ethan. Joffrey has him strapped to a table here in the basement and he’s not answering me, Larkin. I don’t know if he’s drugged or drained or what, but we need help and we need it now!
Why can’t you get out of whatever he’s got you tied up with, Spencer, and how can you communicate with me?
Larkin literally felt her frustration, heard her desperation in his head. I don’t know the answer to either question. I just know I can hear you loud and clear and I’m weak as a kitten here, Larkin, and Ethan is out cold. We don’t breathe per se, so I have no way of knowing if he’s—he’s…
Alive, Larkin thought.
Okay, don’t panic. Just let me get to you and then I’ll figure out what to do.
If I can’t take him, you sure as hell can’t.
Hey, hey, he protested. He’d kicked some serious ass in his time.
Larkin! Quit being macho man. It’s the truth. You can’t take Joffrey and a gun isn’t going to help you, Detective.
Okay, so what do I do about this? Break out the garlic bread?
Listen to me. The odds are stacked against you. So I need you to really listen.
Okay, shoot.
Remember all that myth debunking about vampires we were doing?
Yeah…
Well, it ain’t all myths and legend and we need help. I think I know how to get it…
* * * *
Mr. Polanski, I’m Larkin McBride. Nice to meet you. I’ve done your daughter six ways till Sunday and yeah, it was me who took her virginity. Sorry ’bout that. I’ll make it up to you. Now—onto more important stuff. Sir, can you help me save your daughter from that freak Joffrey? He’s been killing people and we think Ethan is next on his list of gay guys to whack. Did I mention Ethan is gay?
Larkin’s stomach turned as he tried to form coherent sentences in his head to present to Spencer’s father while driving at breakneck speed to get him. Spencer’s father was their only possible solution at this point.
Screeching into the parlor parking lot, Larkin slammed the car into park and shot out of it, up the wide front steps of the funeral home and down the long hall that led to Spencer’s office, yelling as he went. “Mr. Polanski!”
Jesus, it was quiet here.
Funny how dead people are like that, eh, Larkin?
Larkin headed to the suite of offices where Spencer said her father might be at this late hour. “Mr. Polanski!” he shouted as he went, opening every door he could get his hands on and sticking his head in to scan the rooms.
“Mr. McBride?” a quiet, almost solemn voice asked from behind him.
Larkin whipped around to stand face-to-face with Spencer’s father. The look of concern on his pale face made Larkin reach deep for his cop demeanor. Freaking this man out wasn’t going to help Spencer. Larkin took a long breath and began, “Mr. Polanski, I’m Larkin McBride. Detective McBride and we—I need your help.”
Edgar Polanski cocked his head and eyed Larkin with obvious skepticism. “What’s wrong, Mr. McBride?”
“It’s Spencer. It’s a long story, but you have to come with me.”
Larkin heard the alarm in Edgar’s voice when he said, “Spencer? What’s wrong with Spencer? She was just here a bit ago and I don’t have to do anything with you until you explain yourself.”
Larkin nodded his agreement. “We need to talk, Mr. Polanski, but could you come with me while we do that?” Larkin heard his own voice, calm and collected, but he really wanted to bark orders at Edgar.
“Tell me, Mr. McBride. How do you know my Spencer?”
In the biblical sense? No, no, that wouldn’t be a smart thing to say to the father of the woman he was in love with and now had to tell his daughter was in imminent danger. The vampire father who was going to make mincemeat out of him. Well, shit.
“I know Spencer because we’ve been investigating a string of murders. I’ve been investigating, I should say and, well it’s a long story. We don’t have a lot of time for me to explain.” Larkin struggled to keep his voice even and reassuring.
This was just a little different than his average bust. He’d never gone into one against a vampire.
Edgar Polanski’s face remained passive, but his fists were tight balls by his sides. “Murder? Aren’t you friends with the deceased Alan Perkins? I seem to remember seeing you with Mrs. Perkins.” Now Edgar’s tone was suspicious and Larkin’s cop ears picked up his growing impatience.
“Yes, sir, I was, and that’s what led me to where I am now. I’m going to have to ask you to come with me, Mr. Polanski, please.” Larkin added the word “please” and hoped it helped in his plight to get Edgar Polanski to move his ass.
“I think you’d better explain yourself, Mr. McBride. I’m not going anywhere until you do.”
Well, of course not. Why would Edgar get the lead out and make this easy on Larkin? That would just be too simple, considering the urgency of things. “Mr. Polanski, Spencer and I have discovered that Alan Perkins and several other men didn’t die in tragic accidents, nor did they kill themselves. They were murdered.”
Larkin watched as Edgar’s eyebrow rose and his lips compressed into a tight line, but his face gave no indication that he wanted to kill Larkin for dragging his daughter into this. Good, this was good. Impatience was gnawing at Larkin, giving way to strong-arming tactics Larkin knew wouldn’t work with Edgar Polanski.
“You’ve been detecting with my Spencer?”
Well in a word or less, yeah…we detected all right. “Yes, sir. It’s kind of hard to explain, but—”
“Why don’t you give it a whirl, Mr. McBride?” Edgar had moved closer to Larkin and now was standing in front of him with a menacing look. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.
Shit. “Yes, sir. Spencer brought a few things to my attention about Alan and the others which led to me investigating…some things…”
“Do you have jurisdiction to do that in Easton, let alone with my Spencer?”
“Well, no, sir. I don’t, but Alan—”
“Was your friend, Detective.”
Larkin’s look was sheepish. “Yes, sir, he was.”
“That has nothing to do with Spencer, Mr. McBride.”
“Well, actually it does. You see—”
“No, Mr. McBride, I don’t see. Enlighten me if you will.”
Larkin gulped. He’d never been nervous around a soul in his lifetime. Not once, but Edgar Polanski was intimidating as all hell. “Spencer…well, Spencer found a vampire bite on Alan’s—”
Edgar’s eyebrow rose. “You know we’re vampires, Mr. McBride?”
“I do, sir.” Larkin was almost afraid to admit that. “But don’t get upset. I mean, I understand the whole vampire thing and all. I really need you to come with me, Mr. Polanski.”
“Where?”
Larkin had had enough. It was time to get tough. Well, not tough or Polanski might hurt him, but insistent. Yeah, insistent. “Spencer’s in trouble, Mr. Polanski, and I don’t have time to talk about it while we stand here, um, sir. Do you remember Joffrey?”
Edgar’s eyes narrowed. “I do…”
“Well, he’s part of the problem.”
The vampire cocked his head. “Where is Spencer, Detective?”
Christ and a sidecar, he was in for it now. “Joffrey has her and we need to roll, sir.”
“That pig has my daughter?” Edgar’s face remained pale, however his eyes blazed with unspoken fury, assuring him things were about to get ugly for Joffrey.
“So you’ll come with me, sir?”
“Yes, I’ll come with you and while I do that you’re going to explain to me exactly what’s been going on with you and my Spencer.”
Larkin nodded as he led Edgar Polanski to his car. “Yes, sir. I’ll do that, but first we have to find them.” Larkin could no longer keep the urgency out of his voice. Spencer had said Joffrey would be gone about an hour—time was a wastin’ here.
“What kind of detective can’t find his suspect, Mr. McBride?”
The fucking kind that hasn’t quite adjusted to a suspect that only drinks blood for breakfast? “Well, sir, I have to say that you vampires are pretty crafty, and I mean that with the utmost respect. Also, I’m still having trouble with the whole mind reading thin—er…” Jesus Christ, moron. Shut up.
Edgar took long strides alongside Larkin, but his forehead wrinkled. “Have you been intimate with my daughter, Detective?”
Could this get any worse? Play stupid, Larkin. It’s the only way. “Sorry, sir?”
“You heard me, young man. Only a life mate can hear the thoughts of another vampire—this also rings true if the person hearing the vampire’s thoughts is a human.”
Well, would you look at that. He should have known. Larkin would have stopped and scratched his head, allowing himself a “what the fuck” moment if he had time to ponder this.
Larkin opened the car door for Edgar and asked over his shoulder, “I thought you could only smell your life mate, sir?”
Edgar nodded as Larkin climbed in beside him and sheepishly removed the soda can from the dashboard, chucking it in the backseat. “That’s true in some cases, but in others, life mates can read each other’s minds. Some come into this world with the ability to smell their life mate and others with the ability to read their minds—or in the case of Spencer and yourself, an obvious role reversal. Has she begun to read yours yet, Detective?”
Holy vampire.
“I suspect this clears many things up for you, Detective?” Edgar asked.
“Well, uh—yes, sir. Yes, it does.” Had he just basically admitted intimacy with Spencer? Shit, what a first impression he was making on his woman’s father.
Jesus.
Edgar’s eyes narrowed again. “So you have been intimate with my daughter. I do believe you owe me some explanations, Detective.”
Aw, hell.