Authors: Tami Dane
Blood of Dawn (7 page)
“Thanks. I hated my name when I was a kid. I thought it was weird. It’s grown on me. Good to meet you, Megan.”
“You too.”
I made a point to look around, as if nervous. “I heard about this school on the news. Two girls were killed. Just this week. That’s crazy.”
Megan’s expression sobered. “One of them was my friend.”
“Oh. Sorry I mentioned it.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t know. How could you?”
We were now standing outside our algebra classroom.
A young man sauntered up, gave us a look, and sneered. “Hey, Megan. Looking good today,” he said to her boobs.
We looked at each other.
“Did you say D Wing?” I asked.
“Yeah.” She motioned with her hand. “It’s this way.”
“Who was that?” I asked, following her.
“Derik Sutton. He’s a creep. Everyone hates him.” She peered over her shoulder, as though afraid he might be following us.
Finally we ducked into the bathroom, which was empty. It was no wonder nobody checked it. This wing seemed to be unused right now. The hall lights were illuminated, but I noticed not a single classroom was lit up.
Inside, we flipped on the light. Megan went to the counter, dropped her backpack on the floor, and stared into the mirror. “It was my fault,” she said, eyes reddening. “I haven’t told anyone.”
“What was your fault?”
“Stephanie’s death.”
A little shiver buzzed up my spine. “Why do you think it’s your fault?”
“Because I left her. At Joe’s party.” She wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I don’t even know you. I guess I just needed to tell someone.”
“That’s a hard secret to keep.”
“Yeah, it is.”
I watched her struggle to contain her grief and guilt. My heart ached for her. It wasn’t fair that she was blaming herself, but I doubted I’d be able to convince her of that.
“Did you know someone wanted to hurt her?”
“No way.” She rubbed her thumb along her lower lashes, wiping away the raccoon eyes that were forming.
“Then there’s no reason to blame yourself.”
“If I’d walked home with her, instead of dumping her so I could hook up with that asshole Nate, maybe she’d still be alive.”
“And maybe not.”
Megan’s hands shook as she bent over to dig into her backpack. She pulled out a water bottle, flipped open the top, and took a swig. She handed it to me. “Drink? It’s vodka. The teachers can’t smell it on your breath.”
I shook my head. I knew for a fact that wasn’t true. Any form of alcohol could be detected on someone’s breath. “No thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” She took another swallow, capped the bottle, and stuffed it back into her bag. “I don’t want to be here.”
“Me neither.”
She turned around, ass resting on the sink. “I don’t want to talk anymore. What’s your story?”
“Me? I don’t have a story. I’m just here because I have to be. I wasn’t happy when I heard about it.”
“Nobody is. School sucks balls. It’s summertime. I should be working on my tan, not doing fucking algebra.”
“Yeah.” I wasn’t about to tell her that baking in the hot sun was about as enjoyable to me as having a tooth extraction.
“My friends are all going to the shore today. And here I am.” Something in her backpack buzzed. She shoved her hand in and pulled out a phone.
I smoothed on some lip gloss, trying not to cringe at my reflection in the mirror as I listened in on her end of the conversation. Unfortunately, she said very little. When the call ended, she looked at me, said, “Fuck this,” and left.
I guessed she was heading to the beach.
I debated whether I should hang out in the bathroom, alone, until the bell rang or head to algebra. The thought of sitting in a classroom, learning how to solve uber easy linear equations I could do with my eyes closed, made my brain ache. But sitting in the girls’ bathroom all day wasn’t going to get me a permanent gig with the FBI.
Steeling myself for an hour of simplifying expressions, I took a deep breath and headed out.
I have known a vast quantity of nonsense talked about bad men not looking you in the face. Don’t trust that conventional idea. Dishonesty will stare honesty out of countenance any day in the week, if there is anything to be got by it.
—Charles Dickens
7
The rest of the day crept by at a snail’s pace. It was torture, but not in the way I’d expected. The subject matter was dull. Most of the teachers were trying their best to get the students involved and interested, but they were failing. In a nutshell, I was very glad to be leaving, and I was dreading going back tomorrow. The one highlight had been that little chat I’d had with Megan. She hadn’t given me any useful details, but I now knew that Stephanie Barnett had sneaked out to a party. Others had to have seen her. Maybe even with the killer.
I tossed my backpack onto the backseat and flopped into the driver’s seat. My phone was in my fist, and I was about to call JT to bring him up to speed when his ringtone sounded.
I hit the button. “Great timing. I was about to call you.”
“I just got off the phone with Forrester. A third girl is dead.”
“Already? This guy’s moving fast.” I stuffed the key into the ignition and cranked it. “I’m at the school. What’s the address?”
“He’s thinking this one isn’t a murder. If it is, the MO is completely different. He’s on his way to the scene now.”
“Do you have the address?”
“I do. But you can’t go. Chief’s orders.”
“But I can be there in five.”
“And what if some of the students see you? Your cover will be blown.”
I glanced out the window, watching the parking lot empty. A few stragglers were just leaving the building. “You’re right. It’s bad enough I couldn’t use a fake name to go undercover. I’m trying to keep my last name quiet. I guess that means I won’t be able to go to any of the crime scenes from this point forward. At least, not until I’m done with this assignment.”
“Are you complaining?”
I thought about the nausea, the jangling nerves, and the awkward conversations with grieving parents. “Of course not. I’d never complain. Anyway, I had an interesting conversation with a friend of Stephanie Barnett’s today. Barnett sneaked out to a party the night she died.”
“Interesting. What else did the friend know?”
“That’s it. Nothing else. They split up. She dumped her at the party and left with a boy. But maybe someone else saw Barnett.”
“It’s something.”
“It isn’t much. I don’t even know who was at the party, where it was, nothing.”
“The fact that you somehow managed to find a friend of Barnett’s already tells me you won’t have any problems getting more information.”
“That was dumb luck.”
“We’ll see about that. Nothing about you is dumb, Sloan.”
“And we’ll see about that.” The parking lot was clear now. I drove to the exit and steered out into traffic. I was headed toward the freeway, but I didn’t know which way to go once I got there. “What should I do now? Go back to the unit?”
“No, there isn’t anything you can do there now. Might as well call it a day. I’ll call you as soon as I know more about the dead girl.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you later, then.”
“Good-bye, Sloan.”
“Bye. Um, JT?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.” There was a heaviness to his voice. I couldn’t miss it.
“If you need to talk, I’m here.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” When he didn’t say anything else, I added, “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Yep. Bye.”
I clicked off and called Katie. No answer. I dropped my phone onto the passenger seat and pointed my car toward my “home away from home.”
When I rolled into my folks’ driveway, I noticed a certain car was parked front and center. It would seem I had company. Again.
He was early. It wasn’t even close to dinnertime.
“Hello, gorgeous.” Damen took a slow, winding visual perusal of my person before lifting his gaze to my face. “That is some outfit you’re wearing.”
“Yeah.” Feeling very uncomfortable, I hugged myself as I clomped up to the door. “It’s for work.”
His brows rose. He shouldered the door frame as I knocked. I’d forgotten to ask Mom for a house key again.
“I guess I shouldn’t ask?”
“Probably not. But, based on your expression, I feel it’s pretty safe to say it isn’t what you’re thinking.”
Sergio opened the door for us, gave me a little nod, then disappeared to take care of some other pressing matter.
Damen cornered me in the foyer. “It’s going to take some getting used to, knowing you’re out there, risking your life—”
“I’m an intern,” I pointed out. “Interns generally don’t risk their life . . . unless you consider going out for coffee or lunch a death-defying act.” I decided it wasn’t a good idea telling him the truth. Not yet.
His chuckle was warm and his eyes sparkled, and I liked those sparkles very much. “Fair enough. I’ll worry no more.” He grabbed me at the waist and pulled me closer. “May I?” he asked, tipping his head.
“You may.”
I swear, my feet left the floor when he kissed me. My head was spinning when the kiss ended, and I opened my eyes to find I’d smashed my body against his and was holding on for dear life.
“W-wow,” I stammered.
“I agree. Maybe we should do that again.” He kissed me once more, and it was all I could do to resist begging him to take me right there, on the foyer’s cold marble floor.
Sadly, a soft cough cut that one short. Then again, that was probably for the better.
Still plastered to his front, I turned to give the interrupting party a half smile. In my mind’s eye, I imagined I was looking completely stumble-to-your-ass drunk.
Mom’s brows lifted so high, her forehead looked like the skin of a shar-pei. “Sorry to interrupt, but, Sloan, your father needs to speak with you.”
Odd.
“Sure.” I gave Damen an apologetic grin and stumbled away, heading toward my father’s home office. The door was open, and he was sitting in front of his computer.
“Sure.” I gave Damen an apologetic grin and stumbled away, heading toward my father’s home office. The door was open, and he was sitting in front of his computer.
“Sloan, have a seat.”
I pulled up the big armchair angled in the small room’s corner so I was looking across the desk at my father. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Not at all. But after your reaction to the last time, I thought I’d better run this one by you.”
I had no clue what he was talking about. “What ‘one’?”
“Damen Sylver has formally proposed that you and he should court.”
“‘Court’?”
“To court is to date with the intention of marriage.”
“Marriage? Um . . .” I wrung my hands. Court? Courtship? Marriage? I’d just broken an arranged engagement, and here I was staring at the possibility of diving into another? A lot of what-ifs flooded my mind. What if I decided Damen wasn’t the right one for me? How hard would it be to end this courtship? What if I started to like him, to love him, and he backed out? What if? . . . What if? . . . What if?
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” my father said, clearly keying into my mixed emotions. A part of me was flattered that a man who seemed so great wanted to take our relationship to the next level. But it was so fast, and we barely knew each other.
Maybe there was a reason why he was pushing toward a commitment so soon.
If something seems too good to be true, it probably is.
“Why is he moving so fast? Why even think about marriage already?”
“It may seem fast to you, but it isn’t. Not in the world of the elves. Arranged marriages are still very common. Many times a man meets his wife for the first time on the day of their wedding. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t see a wedding in your immediate future. When Her Majesty approached me with her concerns—”
“She has concerns?”
“It’s nothing personal. She has a great deal of respect and admiration for you, of course.”
“Of course.” Yes, there was a touch of sarcasm there. It just sort of slipped out.
My father paused for a few seconds, as if to give me a moment to gather myself. It wasn’t necessary. I had full control of my emotions. If I didn’t, he’d know it. “Sloan, maybe you don’t realize, but that man out there is the future king of the elves. Things don’t work the same with royalty as they do with an average FBI profiler.”
“I’m not dating any FBI profiler, average or otherwise. But that’s beside the point. I realize Damen is the potential inheritor of a throne, but isn’t he down the line of succession? Like, way down the line?”
“No. He’s at the top.”
“What? Didn’t someone mention something about the fertility of the elves? Doesn’t he have like . . . I don’t know . . . dozens of siblings?”
“He does. But they all relinquished their claim.”
“Why?”
My father leaned back in his chair. “Because there are certain requirements, expectations, responsibilities.”
“In other words, none of them wanted it, so he’s stuck with it?”
My father shrugged. “I guess you could say that. What matters is that you understand what you’re walking into here. And what will be expected of you.”
If it wasn’t for the fact that Damen seemed to be a great man, honorable, responsible, charming, adorable, sexy—the list of adjectives could go on and on—I would’ve told my father to forget it and walked away. But I couldn’t. Because Damen was all those things, and so many more. I liked the way he made me feel. Not just physically, but also emotionally. I didn’t just feel smart. I felt pretty. And desirable.
“What’s involved in this courtship thing?” I asked.
“It’s pretty much just a fancy way of saying you’ll be appearing in public together, as a couple.”
I thought about it for a moment or two. Was that so bad? Really, it wasn’t. In fact, maybe I was making too much out of this whole courtship thing. “Okay, I guess I can handle that. No commitment, right?”
“None. But there is something else. You’ll have to be chaperoned. And there cannot be any physical intimacy beyond a kiss.”
Considering how warm I became when Damen kissed me, that restraint could prove to be a challenge.
“Chaperone?” I repeated. Then again, that was probably exactly what I needed.
Immediately my mind went back to that night with Gabe, the first time we made love. That night had been one I’d never forgotten. Bittersweet. And many times, I’d wished it hadn’t happened because later, when we did break up, it was the regret of that night that haunted me.
Yes, smart kids, even kids with IQs over 190, make stupid mistakes. Don’t I know it.
“I know it’s a lot to think about,” my father said.
“It is. But it isn’t. Damen seems to be a good man. Tell me, is he a good man?”
My father’s shoulders lifted. “I’d like to say I had picked a good man for you, but it seems we have a different opinion there. So I’ll say I’ve known Damen Sylver since he was a boy, and he’s never done anything illegal, immoral, or otherwise objectionable.”
“Well, then, I guess that means he checks out. You’d know, being the head of security, if there was something to worry about.”
“Yes, I would.” His gaze focused on the desk.
For just an instant, I questioned my father’s honesty. But then I shook off my doubt. He wouldn’t lie to me. He was my father. He would feel an obligation to protect me. “Okay.” I stood. “I’ll head out and give him the good news.”
“All right.” My father stopped me at the door. “Sloan, if you have any problems, my door is always open.”
“You’re acting like you expect this thing to fail already.”
“That’s not what concerns me. Sloan, until you’ve dealt with Her Highness, you have no idea what you’re in for.”
The tone in his voice made a little quiver quake up my spine.
With mixed emotions, I left my father’s office. Damen was waiting in the living room with Mom. She was beaming. So was he. Me . . . I doubt it.
Mom stood. She looked like a kid who was waiting to talk to Santa. “Well?”
I turned to Damen.
He stood and strolled toward me with strong, sure strides. He took my hands in his and looked into my eyes. “Sloan, it would make me a very happy man if you’d agree to a courtship.”
How could I not melt, the way he was looking at me? It was as if his next breath hinged upon my answer. I didn’t have the heart to make him wait a single second more.
“Yes. I’ll court you.”
He grabbed me in a bone-crushing embrace and whispered, “I swear, I’ll make you the happiest woman on earth.”
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