Booty Call (Episode Seven: The NIghtshade Cases) Read online

  As Kinsey’s feet carried her closer, she knew it wasn’t Simone’s odd electricity that kept her coming back, nor was it her curiosity. No, it was that one single moment she’d been allowed to hold one of the artifacts in her hands. In that instant, it owned her, kept calling her back to it again and again. And though she’d never been permitted, from that time on, to touch the oddly shaped stone items, only to observe through armed and alarmed glass domes, Kinsey felt the pieces pulling on her even now.

  Sweat stood out on her upper lip as she opened the door to the lab and entered. It was empty, no sign of Simone. Kinsey closed the door behind her, leaned against it, exhaled shakily into the dim light. Spots lit each of the artifacts, her computer terminal and note taking station waiting for her at the end of the room. Kinsey slowly walked the line of pedestals, ten in all, letting her fingers brush over the glass protecting each artifact, swallowing the surge of saliva that filled her mouth as she understood this addiction she was under.

  Made all the more apparent when she halted at the last one, a slim but solid decanter. She sensed it, even through the glass, the smooth texture of it, the way it felt. She’d worn gloves when she handled it, but could still imagine how it would feel against her skin, as though the touch of it penetrated the thin latex. Like a living thing, calling to her. She could just smash the glass, break it, take the artifact, press it against her and never let it go—

  “Kinsey?” Simone’s voice interrupted, making the anthropologist jump. She spun with a gasp, hands pressed to her chest, to find the stunning woman standing next to her. Her sleek, black bob brushed her ruby lips as she tilted her head, flawless bangs moving as she blinked her thick lashes. Black eyes held Kinsey in thrall.

  Or was it her eyes? She’d learned so much, about who she was, about what she could do and what being a Nightshade might mean. If she was right, if Simone shared that power… fury woke in Kinsey, killed the urgent tug of the artifact, made her feel cold inside instead of superheated and ready to fight. Instead, she met her one-time employer’s gaze with steady determination.

  “I quit.” She’d planned a long speech, an apology with her resignation. Even had a letter in her pocket. But the sight of Simone hovering there, watching her, the artifact’s attraction and addiction, the whole fucking, stinking situation that kept her from her friends when they were the people she needed the most… she was done.

  Just done.

  Simone’s eyes flew wide, a flare of anger showing. But when she spoke, it was in a reasonable tone, with kindness. “I don’t understand. Are you unhappy with your assignment? I had thought you were enjoying the job.”

  Kinsey backed away from her, rejected the hand Simone tried to lay on her arm. There had always been a hint of something physical between them, though the anthropologist was never sure if Simone was simply being overly friendly or making true overtures. Now, it just gave her the willies.

  “My work with the police department is more important than studying a dead language no one understands.” Kinsey almost laughed at that. Her whole life had been dedicated to studying such languages. And yet, here she was, rejecting her life’s work offhandedly, because Gerri wanted her to.

  No. Because she no longer needed to. She knew now what she was. Her job was to figure out what it meant.

  Simone reached around her, pressed the side of the pedestal. To Kinsey’s horror, the red alarm light went out, the glass retracting. And then, just like that, the object of her desire was out in the open. Reachable. Touchable.

  “You’re certain?” Simone’s voice was lost in the rush of need Kinsey felt.

  It was that need that gave her the kick in the ass she needed. Kinsey didn’t say a word. She turned and ran for the door, not caring she was running, that it might seem odd or crazy.

  Because if she didn’t run, she would have been lost there, in that room, forever. She knew it.

  ***

  INT. – RAY’S APARTMENT – EVENING

  Ray sat slumped at her kitchen table, the barest dregs of her second bottle of CabSav sloshing in the bottom of her wineglass. Drunk. She just needed to be drunk and gone away from her feelings for a while. To not feel anything except the deep buzz of the alcohol. But, even it didn’t dull her enough, never did, really. She’d been able to outdrink everyone she knew, even in college, putting two football linebackers into the ER with alcohol poisoning while she walked away.

  Fucking vampir goddamnitall. Had to be its fault. Hers? Theirs? She still didn’t know how to feel about the other race inside her. Or, for all she knew, she was full whateverthefuck she was. Where had it come from, exactly? Why her?

  Bollocks and fuckit. She just wanted to be drunk while waiting to go to dinner with Mummy.

  Was that too much to ask?

  The doorbell rang, making her curse out loud. Hiccupping around her swears, Ray went to the door, hating her obedience to the ringing of the bell, like a dog coming when she was called. Mummy was on the other side, and Ray would give her what for, just see if she wouldn’t.

  Ray jerked the door open, mouth gaping, words she wanted to hurtle at Mummy on her lips. Only to have shock hit her in the face as the last person she expected flew through the door and hugged her tight.

  “Ray,” Gaylene Striker, “I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

  Ray stepped away from her one-time lover, staggered slightly though the wine was wearing off already. “Lene? What are you doing here?”

  The former model paced into Ray’s apartment, running her slim hands through her spiked hair, long coat swinging around her endless legs. Ray remembered those legs, their silky sweetness, the way they held her tight—

  “They think I killed Belinda Patterson,” Gaylene said, turning to face Ray with a crumpled expression on her face.

  Dear. Fucking. God.

  “Lene.” Ray gasped her name, reached for her, dragged her toward the door, panic tearing her up inside. “You can’t be here.”

  “I know.” Gaylene stopped their forward motion, sagging against Ray. The way she did when she was weak, when she needed Ray to support her. What a joke that was. And yet, Ray couldn’t resist her old love, no more than she could when Belinda asked her to go to dinner. She’d tried to stay clear, didn’t want to reignite that spark. And now Belinda was dead and Lene…

  “You were with Belinda?” How odd their paths and lovers crossed this way.

  Gaylene nodded, weeping silently. “I loved her, Ray.”

  She had to call Gerri, to tell her she knew the suspect in her friend’s murder. Didn’t she? So confusing, all of this. Ray hugged Gaylene close.

  “You’re not under arrest?” A foolish question, unless she was on the run.

  “No evidence,” the woman said. “They had to let me go.”

  That was good, then. No evidence meant not a suspect yet. So Ray didn’t have to go to Gerri. Did she? Her mind talked enough tight circles she managed to find a way around it. “Yet” held more weight than perhaps it should have. Still, this was Gaylene. And Gerri didn’t have to know.

  The idea of calling her detective friend terrified her for some reason.

  Her phone alarm buzzed, knocking out the rest of Ray’s insobriety. “Damn it,” she said. “Mummy.”

  Gaylene’s gray eyes brightened. “Your mother is in town?”

  “I’m to meet her for dinner.” She could ditch. But she wasn’t that brave, not even after today’s successful rebellion. Her arm and leg still ached.

  “I could use the distraction.” Gaylene wound her arm through Ray’s. “And enough booze to drown my sorrows.” So much grief in those eyes, need and torment and desire. And Ray wasn’t about to deny her, not when her own need was just as great.

  Perhaps it should have bothered her it wasn’t exactly appropriate for her to take a murder suspect to dinner with her mother the night after their ex-lover was killed. But Ray didn’t give a damn.

  ***

  INT. – THE MELTON HOTEL to CICI’S APARTMENT to
THE MELTON HOTEL – EVENING

  Gaylene insisted on stopping at the bar first and Ray wasn’t about to argue with her. Three rounds of neat Scotch later, and even the medical examiner was staggering.

  Mummy had taken a private table in the back corner, surrounded by tasteful, curved walls and towering plants, but sound carried. Especially her piercing voice when she took one look at Ray and Gaylene who both giggled as they strolled up, arm in arm.

  “You’re drunk,” Mummy said with a particular viciousness that would normally have sent Ray cowering for the corner. Tonight, it just pissed her off.

  “And you,” she said around a ladylike burp that tasted like she needed more to drink, “are an absolute bitch. But, we all have our issues.” She froze inside, shocked, appalled. Secretly shrieking in laughter while Gaylene sniggered next to her.

  Mummy’s icy eyes did little to cut away Ray’s rebellion. In fact, for the first time in her life, Ray wondered suddenly why she’d been so afraid of the nasty old bag all along. Honestly, the frigid witch had nothing on her. Nothing. Ray didn’t need her money, didn’t want her respect. And no longer needed her approval, god damn it.

  So there, Mummy. Take that rubbish and make a cuppa from it.

  She felt her mother’s power try to push her, the coldness of it icy against her skin. Had the nasty cunt been influencing her as Kinsey’s grandmother did for all those years? Worse, the pain Ray felt, the deep-seated ache must also come from Mummy, injuring not just her flesh but her soul with the power of the vampir.

  Ray’s reaction was instinctual as she lashed back at her mother with the magic she had no idea she could control. To this point, it seemed to control her. But, in finally seeing her mother for the vile creature she was, past the procedures and the medical marvels into the truth of Mummy, Rachel Hunter uncovered the sheer ugliness that was Victoria. And jerked it to the surface.

  Gaylene gasped next to her as Mummy’s hands flew to her cheeks. She wasn’t fast enough to hide the suddenly sunken skin, the depth of the lines furrowing around her eyes, the slashed furrows running from the edges of her lips. With one last push from Ray, her hate for her mother fueling her power, Victoria aged twenty years in two seconds.

  Of course, her vampir ability fought back, drove the years away, shoving Ray aside. And, if Gaylene had been sober, perhaps the stunned blonde wouldn’t have bought Ray’s explanation later—much later—that she’d imagined what she saw. But Ray knew. Reveled in her mother’s failure, in her own growing strength. Even as her soul shriveled when she realized what she’d done.

  She was trained to do no harm. And yet, she wanted to kill her own mother.

  Gaylene didn’t sit down, instead turned and kissed Ray’s cheek. “I’ve changed my mind about dinner,” she slurred. “I’m going back to my room.”

  Ray let her go, her own buzz long lost, the chill of her power all that consumed her, now. Power she hugged to her, even as she contemplated how weak her mother’s heart really was. How simple it would be to reach out and interrupt the beats. Shuddered from the knowledge the visions she’d seen her whole life were a precursor to an ability she didn’t know she had.

  If Mummy knew Ray had come into such awareness in that moment, she didn’t show it. Chill as always, she glared at her daughter with equal hate. At least they had that much in common. And were finally willing to admit it.

  “How dare you?” Mummy patted her cheeks as if to make sure she’d recovered before taking a sip of wine like nothing had happened.

  Ray slipped into the seat across from her, leaning over the table. “How dare I?” Such a deathly whisper. It felt powerful. “You’ve lied to me and controlled me my entire life.”

  Mummy shrugged. “Not my fault,” she said. “Blame the Nightshade League.”

  “Who are?” Ray had no illusions her mother would tell her anything. And, as Mummy’s hazel eyes met hers with flat emptiness, Ray had her answer.

  She leaned back, hands folded in her lap. “If you ever touch me again,” she said, “I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”

  Mummy saluted her with her glass. “You can try, little girl.”

  Ray stood, so calm she was certain she’d shatter if anyone touched her. “Watch your back, Mummy.” It felt so good—and so terrifying—to turn and walk away.

  Her mother didn’t try to stop her.

  Gaylene was waiting for her at the elevator, took her hand as they rose to her floor. Guided her into her room and pulled her against her the moment they were alone. For a moment, Ray leaned into her old lover, savoring the taste of scotch on her lips, the angular, sharp edges of her body. Before pushing her gently away, fingers brushing Gaylene’s cheek.

  “I’m in a relationship,” she said, thinking of dark eyes and skin, of silky black hair that fell over her in a wave of fragrant softness. Of Cici.

  Gaylene waved Ray’s protest off. “Where is she, then?”

  Good question. Time Ray faced that issue, too. A night for confronting demons.

  Ray left as if in a dream, barely remembered her drive across town to Cici’s apartment. Drew a soft, smooth breath as she knocked on her lover’s door. Had never felt so in control of herself, despite the terror she felt deep inside this newfound power of hers was really the beginning of the end of everything Ray was. That any second now she would morph into Mummy.

  She’d rather die.

  Voices inside made Ray tense. Two of them, both female. When Cici answered the door, Ray remained immobilized by the fact her love wasn’t alone.

  “What are you doing here?” Cici’s harshness triggered all the terror, forced Ray back a step even as her newly aware power surged into the woman’s chest and felt her heart.

  So easy to just stop it.

  Ray’s hand rose, covered her mouth as Cici stared at her, before glancing back over her shoulder in discomfort, into the apartment, back again. “I asked you a question,” she said.

  Ray shook her head, turned and walked away. And Cici let her go.

  The lobby at the Melton was mostly empty, but Ray refused to hang her head in shame as the front desk staff watched her cross to the elevators. Screw them, if they guessed what she was doing, where she was going. She made the choice not to be alone.

  At least, that’s what she told herself while she shivered inside with a chill she couldn’t shake.

  There was a tall, balding man waiting there, suited body stiff. Ray ignored him and he ignored her. Waited for her to press the number of her floor before choosing the one above hers. Felt his eyes boring holes between her shoulder blades as she stood in front of the doors and waited for this to be over, for them to open so she could escape.

  When they did, she glanced back over her shoulder, unable to help herself. His cold eyes reminded her too much of Mummy, but the elevator was closing on him and she lost sight as she strode away.

  Let him judge, too. Undress her with his icy eyes. She had enough of being alone.

  Did Gaylene know she’d be back? She certainly acted that way, answering the door in a heartbeat, arms around Ray, drawing her back inside. Shedding her clothing like a shell she couldn’t bear to wear any longer.

  Ray dove into the memory of Gaylene’s body and the way she made her feel.

  ***

  INT. – 9TH PRECINCT BULLPEN – MORNING

  Gerri’s phone was ringing even as she stepped off the elevator. She lengthened her stride, boots thudding on the old hardwood floors, her hand catching the receiver in mid ring.

  “Meyers.” Her jacket dropped to the back of her chair, green eyes frowning at the pile of files on her desk as a woman’s voice caught her attention.

  “Detective Meyers,” she said. “I think you’re looking for me.”

  Gerri sank into her chair. “Is that so?”

  “My name is Emily Pocket,” she said. “I’m an assistant DA. You came to see my boss yesterday?”

  “About Daryl Patterson.” Gerri pushed the stack of files around, fishing out the one wit
h Belinda Patterson’s info in it. “He said there was no investigation.”

  “That’s not exactly accurate.” Pocket sounded uncomfortable. “I’m on my way to the precinct. Can I bring you a coffee?”

  Ten minutes later, Gerri sat back on the old leather sofa in the meeting room at the 9th, sipping a hot macchiato while the small, harried looking ginger with the sharp, hazel eyes set her own drink down, spreading out a file folder on the coffee table.

  “Belinda Patterson came to me about two months ago,” Emily Pocket said, voice so girlish Gerri struggled to take her seriously, since it matched her doll-like appearance. The detective wondered if the ADA struggled with being underestimated. Then smirked to herself, thinking many a defense lawyer would probably rue being paired against her in court. “She suspected her husband was involved in securities fraud and was skimming from the company’s profits.”

  “And you didn’t share with your boss, why?” Gerri let her booted foot bounce on her knee.

  Emily observed the detective for a moment, her penetrating eyes making even Gerri uncomfortable after a moment. Yeah, defense lawyers who didn’t know better would get their balls handed to them by this little spitfire.

  “Lack of substantive evidence,” the ADA finally said, small hands cupping her coffee. “I’m still digging. I just needed a little more before I moved forward.”

  “Do you have your evidence?” Gerri liked Emily already. She could tell the tiny woman was an i dotter, a t crosser. And probably an over achiever who hated to lose.

  “Not yet.” Emily sat back with an angry frown that made her look adorable. Seriously. “But, with Belinda’s death, I have to assume either Daryl found out she was talking to me, or he had another reason to have his wife killed.”