Blood Work

  Chapter 24

  It had been years since Erin had walked into a club in civilian clothes. She had spent some time in them while in her police uniform, but this was an entirely different thing. No one shifted nervously or displayed open hostility. No one got out of her way, either. She had to shoulder her way through the crowds, wait while others shoved in front of her and stand trapped between three guys working out where they would meet up later. They didn’t seem to notice her wedged in the middle of their conclave. Ivan and Brad on the other hand…

  Brad had insisted on coming out with her and Ivan. He’d actually insisted Ivan stay home while he took Erin out, but Ivan wouldn’t be left out of it. And the pair of them had a magical ability to just ease on through the claustrophobic room, slipping this way and that as if they had some preternatural sense of where a space would open up and allow them through.

  Erin eventually battled her way to the bar and Ivan and Brad shifted so she could squeeze in between them.

  “My God, is it always like this?” Erin asked, voice raised over the music and shouting.

  “It’s Friday, so yeah,” Brad replied. He leaned over the bar and caught the eye of a girl furiously serving drinks and held up three fingers. She may have shouted something that was his name and a greeting, but Erin couldn’t hear it. When the bartender had finished with her customer, she pulled three water bottles from a fridge and handed them over to Brad, taking his money without checking.

  Grabbing her water and taking a long drink, Erin surveyed the Fringe Bar. It was a good looking place, portioned off into different areas, some with couches and seats, others with tables and chairs. There was a crowded dance floor and a couple of equally busy bars.

  “What’s the game plan?” Ivan asked, leaning in to talk directly into her ear.

  “I guess we just start talking about weird stuff. Hope the right person overhears.”

  Brad ran a careful hand over his spiked, bleached blond hair and frowned. “Werewolves and vampires and stuff? My reputation is going to get shot in one night.”

  “You didn’t have to come,” Ivan said to him.

  “Whatever. We sticking together or splitting up?”

  “Stick together I guess,” Erin said. “We can talk amongst ourselves. Better that than starting up a conversation with a stranger about this stuff.”

  “Righto. Let’s go somewhere more talk friendly.”

  Brad and Ivan slithered their way to the Indigo Lounge. Erin followed in their wake, trying to work out how they did it. By the time they reached the alcove she still had no idea.

  The Indigo Lounge was furnished sparsely with low, purplish brown couches and stools and lit by long blue lights. The three of them squeezed onto one end of a long, curved couch. There were about a dozen people lounging about in groups of three or four, talking and laughing and sipping drinks. Erin felt severely underdressed, but when she’d temporarily moved out of home she hadn’t expected to go clubbing. The best she could do was a new pair of jeans and a black, long-sleeved T-shirt. It wasn’t too bad, according to Ivan, but it certainly wasn’t what the cool people were wearing. Ivan and Brad had gussied themselves up into their grungy best, which meant jeans and T-shirts, but somehow they made it look completely different to Erin’s outfit.

  “So, here we are,” Ivan said blandly.

  “Yeah. We’re here,” Brad replied.

  Erin groaned. Looked like it was up to her to start the potentially embarrassing discussion. Well, they’d pay for it. She turned to Ivan.

  “Ivan, how’s your aunt? You said she got bitten by a dog a couple of weeks back.”

  Ivan glared at her. Brad hid a smile behind his water bottle.

  “She’s great,” Ivan said, his voice intentionally loud. “Of course, she’s been acting awfully strange lately. Very irrational.”

  “Jeez,” Brad whispered. “For a guy who wants to be an actor, you’re doing a really crap job.”

  Erin jabbed Brad in the ribs and gave him a pointed look. He looked contrite, then said, “Irrational, huh? In what way?”

  “Oh, you know, foaming at the mouth, being violent. That sort of stuff.”

  “That’s rabies,” Erin muttered.

  “I panicked! I can’t do this without a script or rehearsal time.”

  They’d garnered some curious and mildly perplexed looks, so Erin herded the boys out of there and they tried the Velvet Lounge. It went better, though it didn’t net them a card with Night Call’s details, so they moved back to the main bar. Here, they repeated their little act each time the faces around them switched out for new ones. After about an hour, the bartender who’d given Brad the drinks came over.

  “Couldn’t help but overhear what you’ve been talking about,” she said, tone flat, gaze pointed. “If you’re after Roberts, he isn’t in tonight.”

  “Roberts? Would that be Robert Robertson?” Erin asked the bar tender.

  “Dunno. He just calls himself Roberts. He’s a rep for a couple of companies. Comes in with freebies and competitions and stuff. He also takes an interest in strange conversations, like the one you guys have been having over and over.” She added the last in a dry voice.

  “You don’t know if he’ll be in tonight?”

  She shrugged. “He keeps his own schedule. Sometimes he’s here, sometimes he’s not. If you’re going to wait, I’ll send him over if he comes in.”

  “Thank you, I’d appreciate that.”

  “Well, well,” Brad said. “Bit of luck there. You know, I could have just asked Jodie in the first place and we wouldn’t have had to make fools of ourselves.”

  Erin ignored him. “It’s about time we caught some luck on this case,” she said to Ivan.

  “What are you talking about? You got lucky at lunch. He fell right into your lap. But you let him get away because his flirting embarrassed you.”

  Maybe she’d do better to ignore them both. She slid off her stool. “I’m going to the toilet.”

  The line for the ladies was pretty long, but Erin waited it out and finally got in. She was coming out when a giant of a man bumped into her. It sent her into the wall with enough force to knock some of the air out of her. A big hand snapped out and caught her elbow, holding her steady.

  “I am so sorry,” the man rumbled in a deep voice. “Are you all right?”

  Erin nodded. “I’m fine, thanks. Maybe you could just look where you’re going from now on.”

  “Allow me to buy you a drink to make up for it.”

  She looked him over properly. He was tall and wide, but in a solid, muscular manner. His hand wrapped around her arm and his fingers overlapped. He wore a long, black coat over a pair of dark pants that looked like the bottom half of a karate gi and a dark silk shirt. He was perhaps pushing the upper end of his thirties, with pale, smooth skin and thick masses of dark, curling hair. Nice, but…

  “No thanks. I’m with some friends.” She began to walk away.

  “I know.”

  That stopped her. “Sorry?”

  “I saw you at the bar with your friends” He put a slight emphasis on the last word, made it sound dubious. “They did not strike me as suitable companions for yourself.” His gaze deliberately and languidly dropped down over her body and back up. “You need someone more capable of protecting you from the world.”

  Erin tried not to laugh in his… pectorals. She was nowhere near tall enough to laugh in his face. “And you’re the man for the job? Please. The last guy who flirted with me at least offered me a seafood dinner.”

  The big guy planted a hand on the wall behind her and leaned over. Erin reached for her gun, which she’d left in the office.

  “But could he protect you from werewolves?”

  Goosebumps rose on her skin and a little chill went down her spine. “Werewolves?”

  “Isn’t that what you and your… friends were talking about at the bar?”

  Erin swallowed, trying to disperse the sudden tension in her neck. “We were. You
know about them?”

  “I do.” He smiled, slow and deliberate. “I also know about Night Call.”

  Heart thumping, Erin asked, “Can you tell me about him?”

  He nodded. “Not here though. Somewhere quiet.”

  “I’ll meet you outside in ten minutes.” Erin ducked under his arm. “What’s your name?”

  “You can call me Martin.” His hand snaked out and caught her arm again. “I will escort you out now.”

  “I have to get my friends.” She tried to break his hold but while it wasn’t tight, it was firm. “Let me go.”

  He pulled her back and shoved her against the wall. There was nothing she could do. He probably weighed nearly twice as much as she did and he was all muscle. His body pushed against her, pinning her in place, his head bowed close to her neck. To anyone around them, they looked like any other intimate couple catching a quiet moment away from the noise.

  “Get off me.” Fear made her voice grate. She tried to push him off but she may as well have been pushing against a brick wall. “I’ll scream if you don’t fucking move right now.”

  “Now, Erin, is that anyway to talk to me?”

  His voice dropped even lower, rumbling through his chest. It rolled over her, making her shiver from shoulders to toes. Her body loosened against her will, relaxed into his.

  “Much better. We are going to walk out of here now. You are not going to talk to your friends, you are not going to talk to anyone else. Do you understand?”

  Did he even need to ask? She nodded.

  Martin leaned down and pressed his mouth to her neck. “Good. Let us leave.”

  They cut straight through the crowd with no problems. People just melted out of Martin’s way and Erin trotted along in his wake, one hand held firmly in his. It felt so good, so secure. He would protect her from werewolves. He would keep her safe from everything.

  Outside, the night air was chilly. She shivered and Martin tucked her into the side of his big coat, close to the heat of his body, guiding her down the street. People were everywhere, walking from one club to the next, hailing taxis, calling to each other across the street. As in the bar, they automatically moved out the way, giving Martin a wide berth. Erin smiled. She was the one with him, not them. Poor souls.

  They turned up a side road. It was dark and narrow but Martin was there, he would keep her safe. In the deepest shadows, he stopped and pushed her against the wall. She pulled him to her, reaching up to put her arms around his thick neck. He put a big hand on the small of her back, holding her still with frightful ease. She moaned. He was so strong.

  “Tell me about the Night Caller,” he whispered.

  “I don’t know any Night Caller.”

  “Yes you do. You’ve been trying to find him. Who are you working for?”

  “Mm… I work for Sol Investigations. I’m tracking down a missing person.” And she’d met him, today, at lunch. He’d smiled at her. A beautiful, wide smile that transformed his face into something bright and fun and sexy.

  Erin gasped. Hawkins. She was supposed to be asking this guy about him, not the other way around. Then she realised where she was, how she was standing.

  “Oh my God.” She shoved against Martin. “How did I get here? What are you doing?”

  Martin hissed and held her tighter. He grabbed her jaw and forced her to look at him. Holy crap. His eyes were silver, reflective.

  “You have a strong mind,” he muttered, searching her face. “Or something else broke the compulsion.”

  “Compulsion?” Erin tried to look away, but he wouldn’t budge. He was so strong. Her stomach dropped in fear.

  Those bright, glittering eyes narrowed. Something cold washed over her. It tingled over her skin, sapped all the strength from her body. Her eyes unfocused and it suddenly became very hard to think.

  “Tell me about Night Call.”

  She didn’t want to, she shouldn’t. There was the matter of client confidentiality. Mrs Veilchen wouldn’t like it if she told this guy about Matthew Hawkins. Poor Hawkins. What horrible things he’d been through. But he was a violent man, too. So much anger inside of him. It was sad.

  “Who is Mrs Veilchen?”

  How did he know about her client? Strange woman. Remote, very cold. Great shoes though. Erin wished she could afford such shoes. She wouldn’t be stuck wearing her thick heeled, practical work shoes to nightclubs if she could afford something as nice as those strappy little things Mrs Veilchen had on. She pictured the shoes, then the long legs, the thin body, elegantly narrow face and don’t forget those ridiculously large sunglasses.

  Martin sucked in a sharp breath. She jerked against him, his hand pulling her hair, exposing her neck. He grazed his teeth over the skin of her throat.

  “Where can I find Hawkins?”

  Where? She had no bloody idea. The man was too good at covering his trail. Too good at disappearing without a trace. And then he had the nerve to just drop out of the blue and flirt with her. It had been so beautiful at that pub on the beach. Redcliffe was so peaceful. Maybe she should go back there and sit at the pub and wait for him. He would come back, surely. That smile. She wanted to see that smile again.

  “Thank you, Erin,” Martin whispered against her neck. Her whole body shook. “You’ve been very helpful.”

  He licked the pulse under her left ear and made a thick, rumbling sound deep in his throat. Then his mouth opened and she pressed herself into his bite.