Blood Work

  Chapter 26

  The voice swept through Erin with the force of a concussion grenade. She shuddered so hard she felt her bones grate against each other.

  Martin. She had to go to him. He would protect her from werewolves and strange men. Her feet took the first steps toward him, but something caught around her waist, held her in place.

  “Erin, no.” The voice was gentle, soft. Not rough and abrasive like Martin’s. It was a good voice, wasn’t it? “Erin, look at me.”

  She was turned around and drowned in hazel eyes.

  “Hawkins?”

  “Yeah. Don’t listen to him. He’s dangerous.”

  Her knees about to collapse, she held on to him for dear life. “And you’re not?”

  “Not by half. Let’s go.”

  She did, before she even thought about it. Hawkins swung her around behind him, his hands still on her, keeping her upright. Beside them, the other man held a strange rifle with a thick, cylindrical cartridge on top of its wide barrel. Oddest looking weapon she’d ever seen. Between Hawkins and his friend, she could barely see Martin approaching from the far side of the street. The two men just stepped backwards, forcing her along behind them.

  “Martínez,” Hawkins said, tone dry. “We must stop meeting like this.”

  “Didn’t know you two had a thing going,” the other man said, gun trained firmly on Martin. “Want me and the girl to leave you two alone?”

  “We’re not exclusive.” Hawkins took one hand off Erin and reached into a pocket on his cargo pants. He withdrew a telescoping nightstick. It snapped out to its full length with a quick flick of his wrist. “Remember this, Big Red? Care to go another round or two?”

  Martin continued his advance and Hawkins and friend continued their retreat. Erin stumbled along with them, clutching at both of their backs in a desperate effort to keep on her feet. She didn’t know exactly what was going on, but she felt that ending up on her arse wouldn’t be the best place to be. Her feet found the gutter and she hopped up it. The men took it with more grace.

  Hawkins whistled the theme from ‘The Good, the Bad and the Ugly’.

  “Man, I hope I’m the good,” his friend muttered.

  “We already know I’m the bad.” Hawkins flexed his wrist, spinning the nightstick in a complete circle. “That just leaves you, Martínez.”

  There was a tense silence filled with more shuffling backwards.

  Hawkins grunted. “Guess he’s not a Leone fan, huh?”

  “Probably missed that one.”

  Erin’s back hit the wall of the building behind them. Hawkins and Co pressed back against her, shielding her. Firmly sandwiched, she was released from Hawkins’ hold and he drew another weapon. This one was a long knife that gleamed in the faint light from the city around them.

  “Roberts,” he said, voice laden with meaning the other man understood if Erin didn’t.

  Roberts nodded tersely.

  Hawkins stepped forward and Roberts slipped directly in front of Erin. She peered around his shoulder to watch Hawkins retake the ground he’d just given up. He moved in a slow, predatory stalk, keeping wide of Martin, knife and stick held low and lethally ready. Martin, however, stood in the middle of the street, cloaked in darkness, eyes burning silver.

  “I begin to wonder,” Martin said and the words tugged at Erin as if they’d been a command. She pushed against Roberts’ back and he just leaned harder on her.

  “Twice now I have caught you,” the big man continued and Erin battled the urge to crawl to him, “and twice you fail to bring along the crippled one. Does she exist? Or have my children lied to me to cover their weakness at letting a mere human cut into their ranks so severely?”

  “Well, hey, I wouldn’t put it past the little tykes to slip you few white lies. I mean, you’re not the most accessible of parental figures. All this time and I never knew you existed. How must they feel without daddy dearest around to beat some respect into them?”

  Martin turned to watch Hawkins circle him. “You talk much.”

  “Compared to most of your kind that I’ve met, you’re something of a blabbermouth, too.” Hawkins lifted his weapons in a careless seeming shrug. “Takes one to know one.”

  Wide shoulders rolling, Martin shifted his weight. It was a small movement, but telling. He was about to attack.

  A dark shape dropped out of the sky. It landed feet first on Martin’s shoulders. The big man crashed to the ground. The figure rolled off him and came to its feet in a single action that was quicksilver fluid, moving so fast it was a blur to Erin. It spun before completely straightening and planted a bone cracking kick in Martin’s face. Head snapping back, Martin was tossed over onto his back.

  “Time to leave,” Roberts announced and grabbed Erin’s arm. He hauled her along the wall away from the fight.

  Erin kept watching regardless, fascinated, curious and horrified all at once.

  Martin was upright so fast she didn’t see him move. Hawkins slashed in from one side, the new comer from the other. The big man met them both with precise, whip crack fast arms. He swept a flat-bladed hand at neck height on Hawkins, who had to drop and roll away from it or have his throat crushed. The new comer took a fist in the face that set them flying backwards so far they hit the ground right beside Erin and Roberts.

  Erin stopped and stared.

  It was a girl. A scantily clad girl in her early twenties at the most. She was a tiny thing, all pale skin, masses of black hair and big heavy boots. She flipped to her feet and tore back into the melee, but not before Erin saw her bright, glittering eyes.

  “Come on,” Roberts snapped.

  “But she’s a child!” Erin tried to get free. They couldn’t let a girl go up against such a big man like that. It was murder.

  “A child who’s a damn sight tougher than you, me and Matt put together. Now move.”

  Erin complied as far as the end of the street. Roberts took a position at one corner, leaning against the wall, gun to his shoulder. Erin crouched by him, not ready to trust her legs to keep her standing for much longer. Her knees shook and every muscle ached like she’d just run five kilometres without warming up. A small, very distant part of her brain was having its own private freak out. She was certain it wouldn’t be long before it overtook the functioning areas as well, but until then, she was determined to get as much information as she could, just to make the eventual breakdown worth it.

  She still didn’t know how she’d ended up outside with Martin, or Martínez, whoever. She remembered him bumping into her, trying a cheesy line and then, bang, here she was, clinging to Matthew Hawkins while the Twilight Zone started up production around her. All she knew now was that a ridiculously fast fight was taking place not that far away, and that somehow, even though she was in the middle of it, she wasn’t the cause of it. The catalyst maybe, but not the reason.

  The fight changed. Where Hawkins and the girl had started out harassing Martin from different sides, it seemed to have moved to a stage where it was focused between girl and giant. Hawkins remained on the side lines, weapons at the ready, watching as the others battled. Though Erin wondered how he managed it. She could barely make the combatants out. They blurred through twists and jumps, vanished from one side of the street only to reappear instantly on the other. At one point, she thought they crawled part way up one wall, leapt to the other building across the street and tumbled back to the ground. Occasionally, Hawkins would dart in with knife or stick. There would be a solid thunk of the stick hitting or a wet tearing of the knife biting and then Martin would rematerialise for a moment, taking a swing or kick at the smaller man, then spinning into near invisibility again.

  “How?” she asked, numb with shock.

  “Best not to ask,” was Roberts’ droll reply.

  Then things got bad.

  The blur that was Martin and the girl refocused into the horribly mismatched duo. They fought still at speeds Erin didn’t think possible, even in the movies. For all
his size, Martin was a graceful, elastic fighter. Similarly, for her lack of size, the girl matched him move for move. Her smaller stature gave her the ability to slip away from his wide arms or roll between his splayed feet. But it didn’t always help her. She was stronger than she had any right to be, but it didn’t mean she had the leverage Martin did.

  She back flipped away from a vicious kick, bounced up, and caught the next huge boot aimed at her head. Twisting the foot, she tried to dislodge his balance. Martin simply set his centre of gravity and turned the other way. The girl was flung headlong down the street, away from where Erin and Roberts waited. She disappeared into the shadows.

  With a violent snarl, Hawkins leaped at Martin. He laid in with both stick and knife, scoring several times, before he mistimed a dodge and collected a meaty fist in his side. He slammed back into a wall and slid down it.

  “Shit,” Roberts muttered.

  Erin was on her feet before she realised it. She hadn’t taken more than a step or two before Martin was rocked off his feet. Spitting like cat with a bur in its tail, the girl ripped into him. All pretences at honest combat were gone. This was an irrational, furious attack. She latched onto his back, little arms and legs locked around his big torso. Fingernails clawed at his face and she lunged at his neck with her mouth. He roared as she sank her teeth into his flesh. Martin crashed to his knees, frantically reaching over his shoulders, trying to pry the girl loose. She wasn’t budging, no matter the big paws that groped at her hair and arms. Staggering to his feet, his balance wavering, Martin rammed his passenger into a wall once, twice, three times before he dislodged her mouth from his neck and smacked her head into the bricks. She let go reflexively and he shook her off with a savage twist of his shoulders.

  The girl tumbled to the ground, limp and trying hard to get up. Martin kicked her in the stomach, legs or chest whenever she got close to standing.

  Erin could barely breathe for the severe pounding of her heart. She’d never witnessed anything so ruthlessly violent. Flashes of being in Martin’s arms, of surrendering her body to this man, made Erin’s stomach churn.

  Hawkins reached for his dropped weapons blindly, but the moment his hands hit them, his fingers closed around them and he was on his feet. Lips peeling back from his teeth, he vented a wild, blood chilling growl and launched himself at Martin’s back. He wasn’t as fast as either Martin or the girl, but he was a whirlwind of action, tearing into the larger man with bloody single mindedness.

  “Damn,” Roberts snapped and pelted toward the fight.

  Erin hesitated, then followed. She had no clear idea why, but she did it all the same. Roberts stopped a dozen yards back and dropped to one knee, gun lifted as he sighted down its barrel. Erin reached him just as he pulled the trigger. It made a faint pop and pffft sound and a moment later, paint splattered over the wall behind Martin and Hawkins. Roberts fired again, missed again. Erin looked from the gun to the obviously one sided fight. Hawkins wasn’t going to last much longer. His left leg was nearly giving out on him with each lunge even if he didn’t seem to realise it.

  “Give it here,” she snapped and jerked the gun from Roberts.

  Before he could protest, she lifted the gun, aimed and put a paint splot on Martin’s chest. He howled and steam began to rise from his sizzling clothes. Erin’s chest burst into fire. She gasped and doubled over, dropping the gun to clutch at her breasts. It felt like acid eating into her skin. White hot pain lanced through her head, blinded her. She hit the ground hard.

  Breathing was torture. Better that she stop, but her body was ruthless. It demanded more air and be damned the pain. Her lungs were shrivelled lumps of coal, her heart seared beyond use. She was going to die in agony. She didn’t want to die like this.

  “Erin! Erin, listen to me. You’re not dying. You’re not in pain. Come on, hear me.”

  Hands touched her. She felt them as vague, faint sensations. They stroked her cheeks, down her neck and over her shoulders. Then they shamelessly explored her chest, the curve of her breasts, the valley between, down her ribs to her abdomen.

  “You’re fine, Erin. It’s an illusion only. Your mind is still linked to his. It’s his pain you’re feeling. You don’t need to feel it. Look at me, Erin. Open your eyes, sweetheart. Look at me.”

  She did. Hawkins’ face swirled into uneasy focus. He smiled at her.

  “That’s it. You’re okay.”

  But his lips didn’t move. She heard him, but he didn’t speak. His hands cradled her face, fingertips moving slowly, soothingly over her temples. Eyes narrowing, he stared into her again and as had happened earlier, it seemed as if he reached out and touched her.

  The pain vanished as if it had never been. She jerked with the sudden release, gasping for air. Hawkins caught her before she could roll away from him. He lifted her into a sitting position, leaning against his chest.

  “Long, deep breaths,” he said and this time his voice came into her head through her ears. “Don’t hyperventilate. You’ve had a shock, that’s all. You’ll be fine.”

  “How is she?” Roberts knelt beside them.

  “She’ll be fine. Martínez had laid a serious whammy on her. I broke it.”

  Roberts whistled, low and impressed. “That’s new. When did you discover you could do that?”

  “Just now.”

  With a frustrated groan, Roberts stood again. “The kid’s fine. A bit woozy, but I think she’s just drunk on Martínez. She got a stomach full. Any idea what that’s going to do to her?”

  Erin, pulling in long, deep breaths, looked between them. Got a stomach full of what? Drunk on Martínez?

  “Ixnay on the shop talk,” Hawkins muttered to Roberts, slanting a sidelong glance at Erin that she caught in the corner of her eye.

  “Right. Sorry. I’ll get the kid and head back to the car.”

  Hawkins sighed as Roberts walked away. He shifted behind Erin and stretched his left leg out. “How you feeling now?” he asked softly.

  Erin swallowed several times, trying to find her voice. “Really confused.”

  “I bet. It’ll all look better in the morning, trust me. The night can do weird things to your perception. I think Martínez dropped something in your drink.”

  “I didn’t drink anything he gave me.”

  “More than one way to drug a person. You got someone to take you home?”

  She slumped back. “I left home. I’m sleeping at the office.”

  “Well then, got someone to take you back to the office?”

  Roberts and the girl walked past. Roberts had one hand on her arm, but the girl slowed down and watched Erin from narrowed eyes. The girl’s clothes were very much the worse for wear, she limped severely, there were cuts and abrasions all over her bared skin and blood dribbled from the corner of her mouth. It was a bad sight, but considering the pounding she’d taken, not nearly as bad as it should have been. She had enough energy to snarl at Erin.

  “Go to the car,” Hawkins snapped.

  The girl flinched and went with Roberts silently, but looking over her shoulder the entire way until they vanished around the corner.

  “Who is she?” Erin asked.

  “Do you think you can stand now?”

  “Still avoiding answering questions.”

  “It’s a talent. Come on. We should move before Martínez comes back.”

  There seemed little choice. Erin and Hawkins helped each other to stand and then staggered toward the brighter lights of Ann Street together.

  “I want you to stop your investigation,” Hawkins said as they turned onto the busy street.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Erin stopped and leaned against a light pole. “Professional integrity. I promised my client I’d find you. And look, here you are.”

  “Who’s your client?”

  Gone was the flirty, happy man of lunch time. Here was a bruised and cut man, deadly serious.

  “That’s confidential.”

/>   A faint shadow of that smile she’d fallen for before flashed across his face, but it was cold, bitter. “Of all people, I should be allowed to know that.”

  “Her name’s Heather Veilchen. She says you stole something from her.”

  Hawkins frowned. “Don’t know the name. What does she look like?”

  Erin described her. He shook his head. “No bells ringing. Drop the case. It’s too much for you.”

  His words sparked heat in her aching chest. “Too much for me? I found you.”

  “By dangling yourself as bait in a trap laid for me by someone who makes Jack the Ripper look like a freaking saint. You nearly died tonight. You nearly died yesterday. You’re in too deep, Erin. Let it go.”

  He began to turn away. She grabbed his arm and pulled on it as hard as she could. He was tired and hurt and it nearly toppled him over.

  “Let it go. Let me go.” He caught the light pole over her head and steadied himself. “I’m too dangerous for you. Quit the case.”

  “Fuck you,” she snapped. If he was going to be an arsehole, then she could be a bitch. “The case is over. I’ve found you. Just come to my office and meet Veilchen. It’s all I ask. Then I’ll walk out of your life forever.”

  That gave him pause. He studied her face, thankfully not meeting her eyes for more than a second at any one time. After a long moment, he nodded.

  “Okay. I’ll meet with her. If it’ll get you out of my hair.”

  Something eased inside of her. She was happy to see this case coming to an end. It had been different from her usual load of following cheating spouses or hunting lost relatives named in wills, but different didn’t mean good. Wearily, she pulled a battered card from a pocket and held it out.

  “I’ll set it up for tomorrow. Any particular time?”

  His lips twitched into that bitter reflection of his great smile as he took the card. “High noon. I like the sunlight.”

  “Can you give me a number to contact you on in case I can’t get Veilchen there?”

  He patted down his many pockets in pants and camouflage jacket. “Sorry, all outa business cards. Guess you’ll just have to trust me.” Then he did give her that smile again, wide and sparkling. She almost slapped it off his face.

  Hawkins spun and walked away.

  “Erin!”

  Ivan barrelled right into her. They both would have gone sprawling if she hadn’t still had hold of the light pole. Brad appeared a moment behind Ivan, smiling in relief.

  “What happened to you?” Ivan demanded. “Where did you go? Was that him? He showed up? My God, and he’s just walking away? What’s going on?”

  Erin put a hand over Ivan’s mouth. “It was him, and yes, he’s walking away. We have a meeting tomorrow at twelve. He’s agreed to meet Veilchen.”

  “You look like you’ve just come out of the wrong end of a train tunnel,” Brad said, looking her over. “What happened?”

  Sighing, Erin slipped in between them, using them for support. “I’ll tell you on the way home.” And she would, but it would be severely edited. She didn’t think they’d believe half of what she’d seen. Or thought she’d seen. Even now, the details were slipping from her mind.

  “Oh, guess what?” Ivan didn’t wait for her reply. “We saw Mercy Belique. She walked right past us. No one’s seen her around in so long, we almost didn’t think it was her.”

  More to distract her reeling thoughts than out of any real interest, Erin asked, “Who’s this Mercy person?”

  “She used to be really famous around the local clubs and pubs. Lead singer of this all girl band called Nasty Kitten. They did mostly covers. She had this voice that could bring down brick walls it was that powerful.”

  “Maybe she’s planning a comeback,” Brad mused. “She had a bodyguard with her, so maybe she thinks she might need one soon.”

  Things began shifting in Erin’s tired mind. “Bodyguard?”

  “Yeah, guy in a dark suit with a rifle shaped bulge under his jacket. Kept a hand on her arm and made sure no one got too close to her. Hightailed it up Ann Street like he didn’t want anyone recognising them.”

  Because he probably didn’t. Erin had to ask. “What was she wearing?”

  Ivan snorted. “Not a lot. Little shorts, torn stockings, great big boots.”

  “Shit,” Erin muttered. Somehow, she knew this case wasn’t as close to done as she’d thought it was.