Bite my fire, p.30
Bite My Fire, page 30
“You heard me. I sit here listening to you like I’ve done for years. I never understood that attitude, and I sure as hell don’t now. Because even if the Blood Center weren’t at stake? The music in your voice when you talk about Mr. Hottie says you bit the big one, bitch. You’re in love. And the Elena O’Rourke I know wouldn’t let anything stop her from saving the guy she loved.”
She paused. Let me chew on that, then said, “But you knew that already, didn’t you? You’re just looking for the bathroom pass. For someone to give you permission to do what you already fucking know is right.”
“I want to rescue Bo, but…oh, if I could only ask my dad. He’d know what to do.”
“Your dad is dead, Elena. Has been for four years.”
“That’s a low blow.”
“Sorry, but that’s the way it is. You’re the adult now. You make the choices. And it’s your choice if this Bo is important to you—or not.” She hung up.
Damn. So like a friend to kick you when you really needed to be petted and held and loved…oh, Bo.
Nixie was wrong. Bo was important. He was the most important person in my life. I didn’t want to let him down. I wanted to save the Blood Center and its protector. But what could I do?
WWDD? What would Dad have done? Patrick O’Rourke was my role model, a fighter for justice and a hell of an attorney. But Nixie was right, Dad wasn’t here.
I was.
Dad couldn’t save Bo. So I had to. Somehow.
I kicked into pacing again. Not WWDD, but what would I do? Well, obvious. I needed to collar the real killer. Right. Easy as donuts. Just find evidence that Vlad was the killer, capture him and bring him to justice—all before Bo returned to Meiers Corners and Tight-ass arrested him.
Just rip off my shirt and tie and change into SuperElena, a kick-ass detective.
Except I hadn’t changed anything to be a kick-ass woman—I had been one all along. Maybe I was naturally a kick-ass detective too. Maybe instead of following all those rules and books, I should have followed my own instincts. Although the last two times I’d broken the rules things hadn’t gone so well.
But maybe breaking the rules had backfired not because I broke them, but because I hadn’t thrown the rule book away.
Hell. It’d be the hardest thing I’d ever done. With Bo’s freedom at stake, his life at stake…with my heart at stake…aw, fuck. Nixie was right. Somehow, in less than a week, I’d bitten the big one. I loved Bo.
I pulled my clothes back on and hit the street. The late August sun beat down on me, but I ignored it. Bo could come back as early as tonight. Tight-ass would be waiting for him. I had to apprehend the real killer before then.
Just catch a supernaturally strong, supernaturally fast vampire.
The biggest trick would be corralling him. If I could solve that, I’d be a huge step closer to saving Bo. Second biggest would be actually stopping him. Human backup wouldn’t work. Maybe Steve or Thor, but if Bo left them instructions to keep me safe, they’d just try to stop me. Couldn’t risk it.
So. I needed to box Vlad in on my own. And I’d need a stake.
Now, where would I box him? Since I had encountered Vlad lurking near the Roller-Blayd factory, I started there.
All the doors were chained and boarded. The windows weren’t boarded but they were high, maybe ten feet up. I loosened a plank on the front door, spun it aside to peep in. More wood sat inside. That gave me an idea. I’d need to unchain this one door, and bring a staple gun. But it could work. I replaced the plank.
As I left I got inspired and visited Bruno Braun. Damn. The more I thought outside the box, the better it got. At this rate I was going to throw that fucking rule book off the top story of the Sears tower.
Chapter Twenty-Six
That night I dressed carefully. After all, I was going after a vampire, soulless creature of the night. I needed to be at my best.
Black T-shirt and jeans, check. Gun, check. Ankle gun, check. And violet thong and violet lace bra, double-check. If I ended up dead, I didn’t want Stark and Moss seeing me at less than my best.
And, thanks to Bruno, a bazooka. Fuck the stake.
The minute the sun set I rattled my front door like I was leaving (Dirk was skulking around the apartment). When I heard the lumbering rustle of bushes I scooted for the back door and slipped out.
I made my way undetected to Fifth and Grant, slinking from shadow to shadow. Clouds veiled the full moon, so there were plenty. A block away from the abandoned Roller-Blayd warehouse a shaft of moonlight picked me out like a spotlight. I froze.
Vlad Dracula swept from the darkness. “Detective O’Rourke. At last, we are alone, bleh!” His black cape billowed threateningly, evil incarnate swooping down on me. His eyes were red and glowing. They burned into mine. “You are in my power.” He raised clawed hands. “You are getting sleepy. Very sleepy.”
Sleepy? Not this time. I shouldered the bazooka and let off a rocket.
“Bleh!” He jumped back with a shriek.
The rocket whizzed harmlessly by him. It hit the pavement, exploded with a bang. He threw hands in the air. “What the hell are you doing? You could have hit me!”
“That’s the idea.” I stuffed in another rocket. The need for stealth was gone. “You have the right to remain silent.” I raised the big tube to my shoulder. “If you give up the right to remain silent, anything you say can be used against you in court.” I pulled the trigger.
The payload shot forward with a foosh. Vlad turned and ran. The rocket flew behind, gaining on him.
He ducked at the last moment. Cape swirling, he avoided most of the blast but the cape wasn’t so lucky. It burst into flames. Vlad screamed, bounced around like a monkey. His flaming cape dropped little fire spores onto the ground.
I caught him, forced him down. Rolled him until most of the fire was out. He struggled against me, the idiot. “You have the right—”
“Bleh!” Vlad jerked away, stumbled to his feet. I grabbed for him. His ass took off down the street.
Proper procedure meant a trail of evidence, the careful accumulation of facts, administering Miranda rights, turning it all over to the courts. “You have the right to consult with an attorney. If you are indigent—”
He bee-lined for the Roller-Blayd warehouse. Wisps of smoke followed.
“You have the right to—oh, fuck it!” My by-the-book shell exploded, revealing a naked blue-woaded warrior-queen. I set off after that little creep like Elena the Barbarian. “Vlad Dracula, I charge you with the murder of Napoleon Schrimpf. Stop, or I’ll shoot.”
“You’re mad! Bleh!” Vlad slowed in front of a boarded-up door. Frantically he worked a board loose.
“Damn right I’m mad. You killed Napoleon Schrimpf. Bo Strongwell is not going down for your crime, not if I can help it.” I dove for him as he wedged through. “Stop, dammit!”
His leg was the last thing to disappear. I snaked a hand after him, caught one foot and yanked, hard.
Vlad yelped, shook his foot like a rabid dog. I lost my grip. The foot was swallowed up by darkness.
Seizing the loose board, I wrenched it totally off. I wormed through, dragging my bazooka after me. Inside I stood straight and tall with my guns, my bazooka and my purple underwear. The Ter-mauve-nator.
The cavernous warehouse was dark. Stray moonlight filtered in through dirty upper windows. It picked out a few landmarks—water pipes, a packaging machine and a pallet of dusty boxes marked “Roller-Blayd”. A spiral staircase led to a platform office.
A few feet away, Vlad was bent over and breathing heavily. Trapped.
My prep had paid off. I found the pile of planks and industrial staple gun, stapled the wood over the hole with two quick ker-chunks. Then I turned on Fakeula. My own eyes might have been glowing red. He certainly reacted like they were.
The little creep took off. I dashed after him. We ran in circles around the warehouse, first one direction, then the other.
I got smart and cut across.
He saw me at the last instant, swerved to avoid me. His unnatural speed kept him just out of reach. “Bleh! Why? Why do you care if Strongwell gets charged?”
Of all the insane questions… “Because I love him, asshole!” I tried to aim my bazooka. Vlad was flitting like a crackhead moth, too fast to get a bead. I needed something to even the score.
My eye lit on the boxes. Empty? Or old product? This part I hadn’t planned out. Luckily, doing things By Elena let me improvise. I trotted over to take a look.
Vlad thought I was taking a breather. He dropped hands to knees, panting. Geez, for a supernatural being, he was way out of shape.
I found a box marked size nine, eased off the lid. Bingo. Roller-Blayds. I’d never skated as a kid, but how hard could it be? “So why’d you do it, Drac? Why’d you kill Napoleon Schrimpf?”
“Bleh. You don’t really expect me to answer that, do you?”
“I answered your question.” Keeping my eye on Fakeula, I set down the bazooka and pulled on a skate. As I started to lace it up, Vlad lunged for me.
His depth perception was as good as his stamina. He started the lunge from about halfway across the warehouse. I snatched up the bazooka, had it pointed at his chest before he was close.
“Just try it.” I couldn’t resist adding, “Make my night.”
Vlad raised both hands and backed off.
I patted my bazooka, pleased. “Way to go, partner.” That didn’t sound quite right. “Way to go, bazooka.” Nope. “Way to go, Bob.” Me and Bob, yeah. “As soon as I get skated up we’ll finish this, you and me.”
When I set Bob down to finish lacing the skate, Vlad took off for the single unchained door like a…well, like a bat out of hell. He grabbed the wood I’d fastened on and yanked. I heard the creak of staples giving.
I sprang up, tottering on one skate. Hell with it. I only needed one. I grabbed Bob and pushed off. It was like riding a skateboard.
I shot straight for Vlad. He saw me coming at the last instant and sprang aside. I smashed into boards, bounced off like a superball.
On the plus side, the impact nailed the staples back in place.
Vlad dashed away. I swayed to my feet and shoved off. Wavered, nearly fell, but not because I’d banged myself stupid against the door. Dammit, now I remembered why I’d never taken up skating—stupid weak ankles. Even Stella rolled circles around me.
I stiffened my resolve, if not my ankle. Wobbled after Vlad, who was dashing up the metal stairs to the office platform. At the bottom of the stairs, I stopped, suddenly in sympathy for people in wheelchairs.
Vlad peered over the railing at me. Stuck out his tongue. “Can’t get me up here, copper!”
Rules said wheels and stairs didn’t mix. But I wasn’t going by the rules, I was going By Elena. “What do you think I am, a Dalek?” I grabbed stair rail and hauled up. Thud-bang, thud-bang. What goes ninety-nine, bang, ninety-nine, bang? A centipede with a single skate.
As I neared the top, Vlad’s face poked over the edge, turned white. “Bleh!” He disappeared into the office.
I pushed onto the platform. The office took up the center, leaving a foot or so on each side. A low railing gave the illusion of safety.
The office door was opposite the stairs, opening out. Vlad slammed it behind him. The office itself was mostly Plexiglas, so I could see him hanging hysterically to the knob, his body cantilevered almost parallel to the floor. He was using his whole weight to keep the door shut.
No lock, then, or not enough time to engage it. Either way, my advantage. I clumped around the platform. “Come on, Vlad. Tell me why?” Gut feeling urged me to add, “Something to do with…Ruthven?”
I’d pulled the name out on a guess, definitely not by-the-book, but it worked. Vlad’s eyes squeezed shut, and he started muttering. “Made me do it. ‘Make trouble for Strongwell,’ he said. Threatened me. Me, Dracula! I wanted revenge on Dru, but…oh, damn Ruthven. And now this.”
Vlad’s motive. The last piece clicked into place. I grinned like a ripsaw. Vlad opened his eyes, saw me and squeaked. “Go away!”
“In your dreams.” I got a hand on the knob and pulled. “Or nightmares.” The door didn’t give an inch. I pulled harder.
Still nothing. So I gripped the knob like death and jerked my entire weight against that door.
I apparently had not watched enough Road Runner cartoons as a child. Vlad let go. I went ass over tea kettle over the railing, off the edge of the platform.
Not the stairs. They were around the corner. Oh, no. I went sailing off the second story grate into nothing but air.
I fell. Had enough time to think shiiiit before landing—
On a pallet stacked high with empty boxes.
The boxes crushed on impact, cushioning me. I staggered off, shaken but whole. I stood stupidly for a second, blinking at my landing site. I didn’t remember that pallet being there.
A flash of wind and a bleh-like cackle snapped my head up. Vlad was dashing for the boarded-up door.
I lit out after him, wobbling like a Slinky. Vlad had the plank loose before I was halfway across the warehouse. Just as I skated up, panting, he hoisted the board high. “You lose again, piglet!” With a triumphant grin he ducked into the hole.
Biting back a scream of rage, I tossed myself on my ass to tear off the stupid Roller-Blayd.
“Detective Ma’am!” A muddy rasp came from outside. “I’ll get him! I’ve got…erk!”
Dirkenstein’s voice cut off with an ominous choke. And then—nothing.
Horrible images plastered my brain as I practically ripped my foot off to get free. Vlad, slicing claws into Dirk’s guts. Vlad, bleeding Dirk dry.
Vlad, actually getting Dirk to shut up.
No, no! I missed the big lug’s nattering. I wriggled out of the hole. Thick clouds covered the moon, so dark I was almost blind. “Dirk! Dirk, are you okay?”
No answer. Ice slipped down my spine. Throwing aside caution, I ran—
Straight into Vlad’s claws. Five razor-sharp shivs skewered my belly. I gasped. My body went hot, then cold.
A voice was whining in my ear. Vlad, curiously free of blehs. “Detective O’Rourke! I’m sorry… I didn’t mean… Oh, I only wanted you to stop, I didn’t mean to kill…oh, this is just like Schrimpf. Don’t die, please don’t die!”
A deathbed confession. Proof that Vlad was the murderer. Although I was pretty certain the deathbed was supposed to be the killer’s, not the cop’s.
The knives withdrew. “Oh, please, Detective O’Rourke. Don’t die. But if you are dying, tell Strongwell it wasn’t my fault, not really. It was Lord Ruthven’s fault, he threatened me if I didn’t make trouble for Strongwell. And when I saw Dru biting Schrimpf, I knew it was perfect, almost meant to be. I didn’t mean to kill Schrimpf, only sip a little. They’d blame Dru, and Strongwell would have to rescue her. Why should she get all the blood and never even give me a quickie? Oh, please don’t die!”
His babbling was getting dim. I put one shaky hand to my midriff. Hot trickles ran down my belly. My one regret was my beautiful violet lace thong. Blood stains were hell to get out.
But I still had a job to do. Even if I wasn’t a detective any more, I was a cop. Protect and serve. Somehow, I needed to stop the vampire.
My vision was blurry. My aim wasn’t so good.
But you don’t miss point-blank with a bazooka named Bob. I blew half of Vlad’s chest away. He gave me a look of surprise before crumpling to the sidewalk.
I crumpled after him.
…
A warm, gentle tongue licked my belly. The fiery pain eased with each stroke. I opened my eyes to a head of Viking-blond hair and a set of broad, strong shoulders. My pants were around my knees, and I was wearing ultra-sexy Level Zero underwear.
This, I decided, must be heaven. “Wow. Being dead is really great.”
“It is,” a black satin voice agreed. “But you’re not dead.”
“I’m not? But Vlad…claws…”
“I got to you in time. You lost very little blood.”
I raised my head. Bo’s eyes were blue and twinkling. His clever tongue was still working. And since the wounds were all closed, he was working…lower.
I laid my head back down. “I thought you were out of town.”
“The Ancient One in Iowa is an excellent teacher. I learned what I needed in less than an hour. I would have been back sooner but he made me practice for the rest of the night.”
“A stern taskmaster.”
“You can say that again. I’m sore all over.”
Bo might have been sore, but I was feeling no pain. “How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to hear you say you love me.”
Aw, shit.
“Actually, I followed you from your townhouse.”
“From my…” My head shot up. “Why the hell didn’t you step in earlier, buster?”
“But you were having such fun, Detective.”
“It wasn’t fun when I nearly died falling off the platform…oh, no. You didn’t.”
“Move the pallet for you to land on? Would you be mad at me if I did?” Bo’s tongue snaked under the tiny lace triangle of my thong.
“Oooh…probably not. If you keep that up.”
“Then I’ll keep it up.” He gently stroked the nose of my clit. My breathing rasped faster.
Muddy rasp. I jacked up. “Where’s Dirk?”
Bo sat back on his knees. “I pulled him aside just before Vlad emerged. I suggested to the good detective that he make himself scarce.”
Which was a much happier explanation for the erk. “And he went? Good grief, what powers of persuasion did you… No, never mind.”
“I only had to bite him a little, Detective.”
I winced. “Well, I got proof Vlad killed Schrimpf. He confessed.” And with his confession, Bo was safe. I considered Mr. Edible Bo-dy, folded on his muscular haunches. “Did you know Vlad was the murderer?”
