Hunter's Blood Special Edition (Cursed by Blood Saga) Page 16

  The girls were juniors in high school when The Bourne Supremacy released in theaters, and Lily laughed, remembering how she teased Terry about her crush on Matt Damon and the sexy picture of him she glued to the top right corner of the cover. On the opposite side was a picture of Leonardo Dicaprio from the 1996 version of Romeo and Juliet, and even though it put Terry in danger of earning geek squad status, she nearly wore out the DVD with how many times she’d watched it.

  Lily swallowed against the lump tightening her throat. Terry’s parents had found a missing piece of her, of Terry, and left it for Lily to find when she finally came home. “Thank you,” she whispered into the silence. Drawing in a breath, she tucked the box under her arm and crossed the room, leaving the door ajar as she headed back into the hall.

  In her own room, everything was in its place as well, including her cell phone still in its charger. She had purposely left it behind, not wanting anyone to get in her way or hinder her plans for revenge. Not that it would have done any good.

  She sat on the bed and slid the memory box onto her nightstand. The outside edges of the rectangle and the homemade latch were fashioned with braids made from multi-colored telephone wire the girls had swiped from the back of a repair truck.

  As if it would lessen the pain, she lifted the lid slowly. Lily’s hand went to her mouth, a sad smile spreading beneath her fingers. Tears gathered, and she blinked, the droplets falling onto the back of her hand. Terry had left her a time capsule—with layer after layer of mementos and memories, a true testimony to their friendship.

  On top were the pictures they took before prom. Terry looked so young and beautiful in her blue satin, with her hair swept up in curls and baby’s breath. Lily shook her head looking at herself in the photo, as well. She had felt like a Barbie, all powdered and pink in her organza gown. Organza. Her. But Terry had insisted, telling Lily her penchant for black leather was the complete antithesis of prom. Lily remembered arguing that was the whole point, but in the end, didn’t have the heart to disappoint Terry.

  Underneath, hidden behind seashells and clandestine notes saved from study hall, were two rope friendship bracelets. Lily slipped them on her wrist, and suddenly it was as if time slipped away. They had each turned twelve that summer, and Terry’s parents, Beverly and Carl, had taken them to Mystic Seaport in Connecticut as a surprise. A Tall Ships Festival was in town for the weekend, adorning the harbor and the surrounding town with all kinds of events. Shops and tents dotted the graveled path winding through the nineteenth century museum village. Giggling, the girls had gone from craft to craft until they’d found an old man sitting on a stack of barrels beside one of the whaling schooners. He was tying sailor’s knots in scraps of rigging. Intrigued, Lily had asked him to teach them how to braid the ropes.

  “Pretty girls should have pretty things,” he’d said with a wheezy laugh. With a wink, he had held out pieces of rope toward the girls, and then laughed even louder when Terry stepped back, scooting behind Lily. “Ahh, lass, don’t be shy. I mean you no harm. I’ll teach you to make a Claddagh braid then, something pretty for two such pretty sisters, eh?”

  Sitting on the edge of her bed, Lily ran her fingers over the rough rope, tracing the intricate patterns in the braid. “Pretty sisters,” she murmured. It was true in every sense of the word except blood. Unlike Lily, Terry was forever the romantic, and when she discovered the Claddagh braid was an ancient symbol of love, friendship and loyalty, she swore the old man must have been a fae messenger, and that something extraordinary was going to happen. She even stole Carl’s pen knife that night, determined they’d be blood sisters, binding them to whatever magic came their way.

  Lily ran her fingers over the faded scar at the center of her left palm. It had hurt like hell and bled like a stuck pig, but Terry wouldn’t take no for an answer. Silly as it was, she even tied their hands together with one of her mom’s scarves like she saw in a movie once, and boy, did they catch hell for it—not only for the bloodstains on her mom’s favorite scarf, but because Beverly swore they would end up with tetanus.

  Lily sniffed. Something amazing. Right. Her world had gone way past amazing, rocketing straight through to surreal. Only problem was, Terry had gotten caught in the crossfire.

  She looked at the cordless phone in its base next to her cell phone. The messages blinked, almost disapprovingly, as she sat with her memories. With a sigh, she pushed herself up from the bed.

  “Shower first, messages later,” she said, and reached to unzip her bag for her toiletries.

  Once showered, she toweled off, and feeling human again, slipped into a pair of fleece pajamas. It was barely seven p.m., but it was pitch black out, and the glow from the streetlights cast shadows around her room. The aroma of fresh-made coffee and buttered toast filled the air, and her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten a thing since before they had left the Compound.

  Running a wide-toothed comb through her hair, she wound it into a knot at the top of her head and stuck a couple of wooden pins through to hold it in place. She jammed her feet into a pair of shearling slippers and padded out into the kitchen.

  “That smells amazing,” she said, peeking over Jack’s shoulder at the eggs sizzling in the pan.

  “Huevos Rancheros. One of my many specialties.”

  Lily inhaled appreciatively. “If Sean had told me you could cook, I wouldn’t have complained as much as I did about you tagging along as my babysitter.”

  Jack shot her a look. “Babysitter?”

  “Isn’t that why Sean sent you? To keep an eye on me? Keep me out of trouble?”

  Jack turned off the burner and pushed the frying pan to the back of the stove. “Lily, do you honestly think anyone at the compound thinks you need a keeper? Sean? Mitch? Me?”

  Lily didn’t answer, she just grabbed a mug from the drain board and filled it with coffee. Taking a sip, she held the warm ceramic in her hands and stared Jack over the rim.

  “Answer me, because I’d honestly like to know. Especially since I’m the one who volunteered for this.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. I know Sean loves me, but sometimes I think he sees me as some sort of fragile possession. He’s never going to relax and let me be me, at least not until I become a full Were. But I meant what I said. I have no intention of letting that happen, for anyone or any reason. At least not right now. So where does that leave me? I don’t need a shadow, Jack. I have a life to live, work to do. And while I refuse to be a pawn, I also won’t let Sean’s worry over my fragile human state get in the way either. I’m not that fragile. Like you said, I don’t need a keeper.”

  “Okay, I get it. But why don’t you try thinking of it like this? In our world, Sean is tantamount to being the President or a Prime Minister.”

  “So what does that make me, First Lady?”

  “Yes. Like it or not, it does.”

  “And I suppose that makes you, what, my secret service detail?”

  Jack flashed an entirely wolfish grin. “Exactly. But with a few enhanced abilities.”

  Lily burst out laughing, spilling hot coffee over her hand. “Ow, Jeez...see what you made me do?”

  “Hair of the dog, baby…hair of the dog.”

  Lily snorted, drying her hand on a dishtowel.

  “So…do we have a truce, then?” Jack asked, refilling her coffee cup.

  Lily took a sip from her mug. Regardless of how much she complained, she didn’t have much choice in the matter. Sean would never let her be here on her own. Not until he was certain she was safe.

  Tapping the side of her mug, she pursed her lips. “I suppose. But if we’re going with this silly analogy, you gotta promise me, no nicknames. No talking into your wristwatch saying stupid stuff like ‘the sparrow has flown’ or anything like that.”

  “Sparrow? More like Harpy Eagle with extra sharp claws.”

  “I’m serious, Jack!” she said, and flicked him with the dishtowel. “I want this to be as normal as possible.”

 
; “Okay, okay…I promise. Can we eat now?”

  “Sure, but I’m keeping this locked and loaded just in case,” she said, winding up the damp dishtowel again.

  Her cell phone rang in the bedroom. “Be right back,” she said over her shoulder. “Dishes are in the middle cabinet.”

  Lily rushed down the hall, but the call had already gone to voicemail. She punched in her retrieval code, expecting Sean’s voice on the other end. It wasn’t.

  Lily—

  It’s Mark Phillips. We have a case that needs your particular set of talents. I’d rather not get into it over the phone, so if you can meet downtown tomorrow at ten, it would really help me out. Give me a call if that time doesn’t work for you. Hope to see you then.

  She pushed end on her touch screen and smiled to herself. It looked like she still had a business after all.

  ***

  “You really didn’t have to come with me, you know. I’ve got this covered,” Lily said, as she and Jack crossed the street in front of One Police Plaza.

  “I know you do, but Sean wants me close…just in case.”

  “In case of what? Do you honestly think Edward Parr or one of his flunkies managed to infiltrate the NYPD in the last month? Come on, Jack, police headquarters has at least two levels of security before anyone even gets into the building. After that, there are other buffers. I’ll be as safe as kittens, to use Sean’s words.”

  The two stepped up onto the curb just outside the main grounds. Even frozen and covered with ice, Tony Rosenthal’s 5 in 1 sculpture and the surrounding garden was striking in its eclectic beauty.

  “Wow. You’d never guess this was a police station,” Jack said, looking around.

  “It’s not a station, Jack. It’s the hub of New York’s finest.” Lily glanced at the main entrance and then back at Jack. “Hey, do me a favor, go get a cup of coffee or take a walk around. Play tourist. I’m not sure how long I’ll be, and I don’t want you skulking around waiting.”

  Jack crossed his arms in front of his chest.

  Obstinacy was as much a Were trait as the need to race the moon. But Jack’s perspective wasn’t quite as one-sided as Sean’s, and Lily hoped that would make him a little more reasonable. There was no winning this argument, and loitering around was the quickest way to draw the wrong attention, and the last thing either of them needed was a stint in the slammer.

  He exhaled, blowing a stream of wet, warm smoke into the air. “Go ahead. I’m going to take a walk around Battery Park, sniff the grass and whatnot. You have my cell number. Just give me a buzz when you’re done or if you change locations. I need to be close, but at this point, there’s no reason for me to be on top of you,” he said with a suggestive wink.

  Lily raised one eyebrow, hoping he was just joking. “All-righty then. I’ll call you when I’m done.” She hiked her bag over her shoulder and headed down the heavily salted pathway toward the main doors. She didn’t turn around, she knew Jack watched and mentally counted the days until the next full moon.

  She passed through a series of metal detectors and officers searched her bag at each location before she reached the lobby. A pretty blonde in a pert, navy suit sat at the reception desk. It was clear she was administrative and not a member of the force.

  “May I help you,” she asked with a bright smile.

  “Yes. I’m Lily Saburi. I have a ten o'clock appointment with Chief Phillips.”

  “Certainly. One moment please.”

  The woman picked up the phone, and Lily guessed it was yet another buffer. Something was up, she’d felt it the moment she’d walked into the building, and knew it was more than just the day-to-day stress of dealing with New York’s criminal element.

  The woman hung up and smiled again, handing Lily a building pass. “Go ahead on up. Seventh floor. They’re waiting for you.”

  It had been a while since she’d been at police headquarters, and the lobby was just as busy as she remembered. Visitors to One Police Plaza often expected something resembling the set from NYPD Blue or CSI New York. Fact was the building functioned not only as headquarters for one of the largest police departments in the country, but also the polished face of the NYPD. The people who walked its halls possessed the same hard edges screenwriters try to give their actors, but here those characteristics were hard earned. The grit may have been spit-polished till it shined, but it was still there underneath.

  As she got into the elevator, the underlying unease she’d noticed at security ratcheted up a notch. She knew the feeling wasn’t hers, and as the elevator climbed, the uneasiness grew until it practically jumped out at her when the doors slid open on the seventh floor.

  She stumbled out of the elevator and dropped her purse, the sense of foreboding gripping her full force.

  An overweight man in an ugly brown suit looked up from behind half-moon glasses, as he sat at his desk off to the side of the elevators. “May I help you?”

  People milling around turned in her direction, and three sets of eyes, each one more quizzical than the last, inspected Lily as she steadied herself. “Yes,” she said, straightening her jacket. She bent to retrieve her purse. “I’m here to see Chief Phillips. He’s expecting me.”

  The man checked her I.D. and her building pass, then hefted himself out of his seat. “This way, please.”

  He led her down the corridor to an office in the back, sweating and red-faced from the exertion. He knocked on the door, and a muffled, “come in” echoed from the other side of the door.

  “He’s all yours.”

  “Thank you,” Lily said, watching him trundle back to his desk.

  She’d worked many cases for the Chief of Detectives, but had never actually been to his office. So why the invitation now? Her guess, the brass had insisted on it. They wanted to see her to pull something out of her hat.

  Without hesitation, she turned the knob and opened the door. The room was large, with black leather and chrome furniture, and a wall of frameless glass windows overlooking the grounds.

  Besides the Chief of Detectives, there were two other men in the room. Talk about home court advantage. She took a deep breath and steeled herself. Bring on the rabbits, baby.

  “Lily. Good. Glad you could make it,” Mark Phillips said, coming around the end of his desk to take her hand. “It’s good to see you. I hope you got my note about Terry…I’m so sorry.”

  She shook his hand. “Yes…thanks. It’s good to see you too, Mark.” The minute her fingers clasped his, she knew his words were genuine, and she gave his hand a little squeeze. “So, what’s so important you couldn’t bring me up to speed on the phone?”

  “Please, sit down. Let me introduce you to Detective Sergeant, Michael Shaw and Detective Ryan Martinez. They’ll be working closely with you on this case, should you choose to take it.”

  Lily nodded to each. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Phillips leaned on the front edge of his desk and exhaled. “I’m not really sure where to begin.” He gestured futilely. “We’ve had three separate, multiple homicides in the past month. That’s a lot, even for a city this size. But what’s worse, each one a veritable bloodbath. The first took place about a month ago near the Roosevelt Island Bridge, the next, in Hell’s Kitchen a couple of weeks later, and the latest down on Ninth Avenue in the East Village. All less than savory locations, if you know what I mean. We’re really up against it this time Lily…”

  “What Chief Phillips means, is we are at a dead end.” Detective Sergeant Shaw interrupted. “In each case, we found only D.O.A.s, and the crime scenes didn’t provide much in terms of leads or evidence.”

  Lily didn’t miss the look that passed between Shaw and Martinez. Shaw was a skeptic, and probably had balked at the idea of having to work with her. Well, what else was new?

  That one look told her both detectives had more up their sleeves than they were willing to share. It was rabbit-pulling time, and her magic hat was primed and ready.

  She leaned back and crossed h
er legs, her elbows on either arm of the chair, and her fingers laced together in front. Detectives were specialized, trained in the art of interpreting body language and reading between the lines. Lily wanted it clear, if unspoken, that she had nothing to fear and nothing to hide.

  “One doesn’t need to be a profiler, gentlemen, to see there’s more here than meets the eye. You’ve gathered hard facts about this difficult case, and as Chief Phillips has explained, you are to be commended. You’re seasoned veterans, and doubtful about me, and what I can bring to the case. That’s understandable. What I do can’t always be quantified. I, myself, don’t always understand how I know what I know.”

  Lily paused, waiting for someone to interject, but no one said a word. The hostility coming from Shaw was palpable, and her earlier suspicions ratcheted up a notch. The man wasn’t just skeptical he would derail her entire role in this case if he got the chance.

  On the other hand, Martinez’s curiosity was piqued. Unlike Shaw, whose body language was closed and defensive, Martinez leaned forward in his chair, his eyes trained exclusively on hers.

  She glanced up at Mark, and at his nod, continued.

  “Regardless of whether you choose to believe it or not, the truth is, I see things, feel things and know things others don’t. It’s called parapsychology, and I understand how hard it is to put faith in anything labeled beyond normal. Profiling goes hand in hand with psychic ability. However, that doesn’t mean I want to be a one-woman show. I want this to be a team effort.”

  Shaw’s face looked as if he’d sucked on a lemon. He cleared his throat, and with a grunt, shifted in his seat. But Phillips was resolute, no matter how much the Detective Sergeant resented the idea. The hierarchy of the police department was a political hornets’ nest, and perhaps that was the reason for his overblown opposition. His authority had been subject, and subsequently overruled.

  “What can we do to help?” Martinez asked, obviously ignoring Shaw’s disapproving cough.

  Lily ignored him, as well. “I’m a purist, as Chief Phillips will attest to, and prefer you not to tell me the specifics. The only thing I need is a jumping-off point. That way, there won’t be a question about what I learn versus what you’ve told me. It’s the way I do things, allowing for us to work together rather than against each other…or God forbid, have the situation become a battle of one-upmanship.”