Nocturnal Part 20

"...and go get that Eleven Ninety-Two Jeff called in, will you? Sorry, Sara, hold on a sec. Kevin! Kevin! The Eleven Ninety-Two!" The Eleven Ninety-Two!"

Dimly, I heard another voice in the background-his partner, Harry. "Who're you trying to impress? We don't use the numbers anymore, remember?"

"Fine, whatever."

"Just call it a G.o.dd.a.m.n DUI. The rookie doesn't know an Eleven Ninety-Two from a Ten-Two."

Mark swore. If I hadn't been frightened out of my wits, I might have found their banter funny. "The new kid is driving me nuts. What is it, Sara?"

I was starting to feel a bit stupid for calling. The guy from the AOA had threatened me, but hadn't actually hurt me. He was gone now. What could Mark do about it anyway? I couldn't tell him everything; it would mean revealing Royce was blackmailing me. I weighed my words carefully, hating that I couldn't let Mark know what was going on, why the AOA was showing up at my office. My desire to close the growing rift between us wasn't as strong as my desire to keep Janine safe.

"Um, I'm sorry for bothering you. I just-this guy just came into the office. He threatened me."

"What?!" I cringed at the panic in Mark's voice. "Who? Is he still there?"

"I don't know his name. He's gone."

"What did he want? Do you know?"

"I'm not totally sure," I lied. "He said he's from the Anti-Other Alliance."

"Sara!"

"What?" I asked, going on the defensive. "He was a nut-job! He walked into my office with two goons backing him up, and threatened me to stay away from the Others. Okay? I don't know why he needed to pay me a personal visit for that, but he's gone now. I just thought you should know."

Mark went quiet for a minute. I could hear shuffling sounds through the phone, the sound of a door shutting. He must have been going somewhere for privacy. The hum of background noise faded and his voice dropped to a harsh whisper, cutting even through the distortion of the cell phone line.

"Sara, I never thought I'd say this, but I agree with that terrorist. Stay the h.e.l.l away from the Others. How many times do we have to go over this? You're just inviting trouble!"

"G.o.d, stop it already! I called you for help, not another lecture."

"This is connected to that vampire. You know it is. Drop the case. Let someone else take it."

Mark's insistence was grating away the few nerves I had left. It didn't help that I knew I wasn't being totally honest with him. There wasn't any way for me to tell him everything that was going on. Royce would let his leeches loose on Janine if I brought the police into his affairs. Much as I loved her, my sister was not smart or crafty enough to outwit a vampire. I had no doubt she'd be used and discarded if one of Royce's people took an interest in her.

No matter what Mark said, I had to finish this job for the vampire while somehow staying out of the way of the Anti-Other Alliance. There didn't seem to be any way out of this without losing Janine or endangering myself. The whole situation was sheer lunacy. Whatever way this turned out, either my sister or I would suffer for it in the end. If it came down to it, I'd take the fall before letting Janine get hurt.

Even if it meant trading my life for hers.

"Look, Mark, I know this may not make a lot of sense right now, but I can't drop it. It's my job. I have to see this through."

His frustrated sigh crackled over the phone. The fierce protectiveness he'd been radiating faded into an easy lilt. It was the same kind of tone he'd taken when I first fell for him.

"Don't think anyone can get you to do something you don't want to. I sure can't."

The admiration behind the statement was the only thing that saved me from wanting to hit him the next time I saw him.

"Listen, love," he said, sliding into a more persuasive pitch. Though I didn't really mean to, I felt my scowl crumble into a smile at that sweet, husky inflection, teasing me with his voice. It brought to mind better times, times when we didn't have so many secrets and disagreements tearing us apart. "What do you say we hit the road tonight? Just for a few days, you and me. I'll call in sick, you tell Jen to hold your calls, and we'll leave all this messy business behind us for a while. We can go out to Montauk. Maybe take the ferry out to Block Island again, stick around for a day or two."

Under any other circ.u.mstances, it would have been tempting. When it was just the two of us, no worries about work or friends or other commitments, things were great between us. The last time we'd gone out to Block Island, we ended up staying for a week longer than expected. We did everything the island had to offer-from bird-watching to night fishing on the beach to some drunken karaoke with the locals. The candlelit meal we had on our last night was followed by one of the most intense, pa.s.sionate nights we'd ever spent together.

But giving in to him now would be as good as signing Janine's death warrant.

"I can't, Mark. Not yet. Please just see if you can have a black-and-white pa.s.s by the office a few times to make sure those guys stay away?"

"All right. We need to talk, though." Uh-oh. That sounded ominous. "Head home. I'll meet you there later."

Rather than wait for my response, he hung up. I stared at the phone before setting it down, closing my eyes and taking a deep, steadying breath. Those last words meant more trouble would be waiting for me once I saw him again. The real fight would start as soon as he showed up at my house.

I picked up my purse, intending to go home and wait behind locked doors for Mark to get off work, but I paused before setting the strap on my shoulder. There was one other thing I needed to do.

I reached for my phone again.

"Sara? What's up?"

Arnold sounded surprised at my call. I shifted to hold the phone between my ear and shoulder, digging through my purse for some aspirin. Hopefully I'd be able to swallow it around the lump in my throat.

"Hi, Arnold. I've got a problem. The Anti-Other Alliance paid me a visit."

"Oh, great. I hate those guys."

A laugh that sounded suspiciously like a sob was startled out of me. I cut it off as quickly as I could, speaking fast to keep from betraying how upset I was. I'm not sure it worked.

"Yeah, me too. I just wanted to let you know I don't think it'd be a good idea for us to meet up tonight, especially since I have to go see Royce again. Don't want to drag you into this mess too."

"Too late. I already promised to help, remember?"

"Yeah, but-"

"No 'buts' about it. Let me guess-you're headed home?"

"Yeah, in just a minute."

"Okay. I remember where your house is. I'll meet you there in an hour and take you to meet with Royce. Maybe see if there's anything I can do to help you figure out what the AOA is up to."

"Thanks, Arnold," I said, fighting back the lump in my throat.

"Don't sweat it. Stay inside, lock your doors, and try not to worry. I'll see you soon."

As I ended the call, I bit my lower lip, closing my eyes against the sting of tears.

Why couldn't Mark be more like that?

Chapter 6.

Despite my bankroll, I don't care for flashy cars or big, sprawling properties to show off my wealth. My indulgences run more toward the latest imported Swiss chocolates than the newest Bugatti model or this season's line of Manolo Blahnik strappy heels. Most of the time, I spent my tax write-offs on charity functions or new equipment for the office. Which is not to say I never indulged myself. My latest big purchase was spy sungla.s.ses that held a video recorder and doubled as an MP3 player. Why not listen to some tunes while gathering evidence on cheating spouses or deadbeat business partners?

Another example of the disparity in how I could be living versus how I did get by was the two-story house in Manha.s.set Hills I'd moved into shortly before my parents died. My surviving family hates it, thank G.o.d. It's in a typical middle-cla.s.s suburban neighborhood. Lots of families, kids, and friendly neighbors. The brick front and white shutters hide a cozy, intriguingly built interior. It's a far cry from the extensive, but rarely visited, beachfront property left to me in the will. My Aunt Beth and her husband, Richard, up in Boston no longer expect to see me except at Christmas and Thanksgiving, which means her tirade against my refusal to carry on the family business comes only twice a year.

To further discourage prying relatives from dropping by, I have a pair of American pit bulls to keep me company and guard the house when I'm out during the day. They wouldn't attack a soul, but their intimidating size and proclivity to bark at anything that moves make Buster and Roxie great guard dogs.

When I parked under the sugar maple in front of my house, the dogs had their paws up between the slats on the picket fence. They were both showing their teeth at a guy in a trench coat pacing in front of the gate. Strange. The dogs usually bark rather than bite or snarl at strangers. I warily sized him up, reaching for the pepper spray in my purse.

"Can I help you?"

The man whirled at my question, flinching when my car door slammed shut. His drawn, unshaven face was twisted in alarm, but his expression eased at the sight of me. It took a moment to recognize him, though the gruff voice and blatant once-over confirmed my suspicions and had me easing up my grip on the spray.

"Jesus, girl, don't sneak up on me like that. Could give a guy a heart attack."

"Hi, Joe," I said, hefting my purse on my shoulder and scooting around him to reach the gate. "What are you doing here? Thought you never left Levittown unless there was money in it for you."

"I don't usually," he admitted, then shifted into a serious tone I wasn't used to hearing from the lecher. The thundering approach of a motorcycle was drowning out his words. "I don't want blood on my hands. You're too close to this one. Stay away from the vampire. Please, for your own safety."

Before I could respond, he grabbed my shoulders. The dogs started barking and snapping again, but they couldn't reach us. His fingers dug in hard enough to hurt. As he opened his mouth, red and blue flashes illuminated the scene and the wail of a siren drowned out whatever he was trying to tell me.

As Mark pulled up before the gate at my driveway and leapt off his patrol cycle, Joe shoved me away from him and ran off down the street. I stumbled against the fence, clinging to it, ignoring the worried whines of the dogs as they jumped up to put their paws on me and lick my face. Torn, Mark paused, looking back and forth between me and Joe's fleeing form.

"Forget about him, he's not trouble," I panted, rubbing at my shoulder. d.a.m.n, the guy had a good grip. "That was Finnegan."

"G.o.dd.a.m.n it, Sara!" Mark hauled me up against his chest. His fingers were shaking as he ran them through my hair, tangling in the pale gold strands. "When are you going to let this job go? How much more is it going to take for you to see that it's dangerous?"

At first, I yielded to the protection of his arms. By the time the last word left his mouth, I was pushing him away. My resentment from earlier settled back into place as if it had never left.

Hefting up my purse, I whirled away from him and slammed the gate open, storming up to my door. He followed close at my heels, sputtering. The dogs whined and backed out of our way.

"Mark, we've had this discussion. Multiple times. It. Is. My. Job. Your job is dangerous but you don't see me giving you grief for it. Leave it alone."

He caught the edge of the door before I could slam that, too, and followed me inside. His swarthy skin was darker than usual, flushed with anger.

"Your job isn't worth your life. You don't take my advice. You don't talk to me about what you're doing-"

"Has it occurred to you that I may not need need advice? When I asked for your help, I thought you were going to be there for me and give me your support. You know I have confidentiality clauses I can't ignore. I can't talk about everything I do!" advice? When I asked for your help, I thought you were going to be there for me and give me your support. You know I have confidentiality clauses I can't ignore. I can't talk about everything I do!"

"That's not the point! You've never listened listened to me, Sara. Never. How many times have I told you to leave the business to Shiarra? I've told you-" to me, Sara. Never. How many times have I told you to leave the business to Shiarra? I've told you-"

"See, that's the problem. You told told me. You never me. You never asked asked me. Why can't we just discuss this like civilized people?" me. Why can't we just discuss this like civilized people?"

"I am am discussing this with you!" he shouted. Buster and Roxie howled outside, a mournful baying. "I am telling you that it's not a choice! If you want to stay with me, you need to leave H&W. Why the h.e.l.l are you hanging on to this so hard? It's not like it's brought you anything but grief! You really think what you're doing is going to make a difference?" discussing this with you!" he shouted. Buster and Roxie howled outside, a mournful baying. "I am telling you that it's not a choice! If you want to stay with me, you need to leave H&W. Why the h.e.l.l are you hanging on to this so hard? It's not like it's brought you anything but grief! You really think what you're doing is going to make a difference?"

"You a.s.s! Of course it makes a difference!" I cried, seething. "Let me live my own life, for G.o.d's sake! I can make my own decisions!"

"No, you can't. Are you blind? What do you think that guy Joe was doing? What do you think those dirtbags were doing at your office, huh? You've made it obvious you can't keep out of trouble. This childish s.h.i.t has to stop."

"Are you done yet?" I snarled at him. It stung when I realized that if Janine's safety wasn't on the line, I might have agreed with him-about the job for Royce, anyway.

His eyes narrowed to thin slivers, mouth set in a hard line. "Look, when you're through being a pretend cop, you can call me."

"You-you self-important, unmitigated a.s.shole! This job is my life! life! Can't you see it's important to me?" I didn't mean to cry. I didn't mean to let the tears fall. They spilled anyway, blinding me. "Why can't you understand that this job means everything to me?" Can't you see it's important to me?" I didn't mean to cry. I didn't mean to let the tears fall. They spilled anyway, blinding me. "Why can't you understand that this job means everything to me?"

"Oh, I see it," he said, his voice suddenly turning low, even, and controlled. "Yes, I see it does. Goodbye, Sara."

"You're leaving me?" I grabbed his arm as he turned for the door. He looked at me over his shoulder, dark eyes narrowed before he shrugged my hand off. I didn't think anything could have hurt more than that cold gesture until he opened up his mouth again.

"We're done, Sara. I've had enough of this s.h.i.t. You don't have any idea how dangerous the world you're playing in can be. I work in it every day every day. You aren't tough enough to take it. No one is. And I won't sit by and wait to see the girl I love get hurt because she won't wake up and stop messing with things that can kill her."

Anger, hot and intense, burned in me. Words spilled out of my mouth before I could stop myself.

"At least I'm solving cases, you a.s.shole!"

He stopped. Turned around. "What did you just say?"

My brain-to-mouth function seemed to have shorted. "You heard me."

His jaw tightened, hands curling into fists at his sides as he glared at me. When he stalked forward, at first I thought he was going to hit me. Instead, all he did was b.u.mp me, hard, on his way past, storming upstairs to the bedroom. Once I caught my balance, I followed in his wake, my temper flaring anew. "What do you think you're doing? Get the h.e.l.l out of my house!"

"Oh, I will," he promised, slamming my bedroom door open so hard, it left a dent in the wall.

I stood speechless in the doorway, watching as he yanked open my dresser and pulled out his clothes. He ducked into the bathroom next, not saying a word as he collected his razor and toothbrush. He breezed past with the armful of personal items, the few things he left here for those occasional nights he didn't go home.

I didn't follow him as he stomped down the stairs. When the door banged shut below, I sank to my knees. As his motorcycle roared to life, the dogs yelping after the thick rumble that chugged off into the distance, I lowered my head into my hands and wept.

Chapter 7.

My back against the bed and a pillow in my arms, I'd settled into hiccups punctuated by the occasional wracking cry when a hand settled on my shoulder. Startled, I flailed, sending Arnold sprawling in surprise.

"What are you doing here?" I squeaked, wiping furiously at my eyes. G.o.d, the pillow was soaked. "How did you get in?"

"The front door was open. I saw your car-never mind that. What happened? Are you okay?"

My laugh came out more like a sob than I intended. "No, I'm not okay. My boyfriend just left me because he can't stand to see me do my job."

Arnold scooted over until his back rested against the bed next to me, enfolding me in the scent of incense and peppermint. I flinched when he put an arm around my shoulder to hug me, a shiver running down my spine. His frown of concern deepened, his other hand gently tilting my head back to meet his gaze when I looked away.

"Did he hit you?"

I flushed at that, pushing his hand back. "No. Mark would never do that."