She wanted to scream. “That was thirty-six years ago! We are far more—”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said with a shake of his head. “You aren’t equipped to handle him.”
Jackie reached out and grabbed his arm, fingers digging into firm flesh. “Don’t you dare tell me what I’m not equipped to handle. You don’t have that right. Now tell me who the fuck it is!”
Nick looked down at her hand for a moment, unflinching before meeting her gaze once again. “He’s a ghost.”
“A ghost.” The anger dissipated like so many dandelions upon the wind. “You’re serious. A ghost is draining the blood from the children of Chicago?”
Shelby leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, chin in her hands. She, too, appeared interested in this news or what Jackie’s reaction to it was going to be.
Nick cleared his throat. “Not literally. Whomever he’s possessing is doing it.”
“The ghost of the man who killed your family, Mr. Anderson?” Laurel had leaned forward as well at his words, but she looked decidedly perplexed by the news.
“Great-great-great-grandfather’s family,” Nick said. “It’s been hounding my family for generations.”
Laurel clasped her hands together. Her voice was thoughtful. “So the man in all the photos we have, who looks so much like you it’s uncanny, are your relatives?”
Nick didn’t hesitate. “Yes. It’s a blood feud that this spirit refuses to let go of. So you have to understand, Ms. Rutledge. You are chasing after something you can’t catch.”
“If it’s possessing a body, we can catch the body,” Jackie said. Her mind churned through the information. It still didn’t sit right with her, but where to pick at it eluded her. “Does this jibe for you, Agent Carpenter?”
Laurel sighed and leaned back into the couch. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s possible, I guess.”
Jackie wanted to throw up her hands in disgust. Now was not the time to be wishy-washy, but what else could she do? This was not her area of expertise, and for the life of her, she could not get a good read on Nick Anderson. If he had been effusive to this point, however, what was to say he wasn’t being so now?
“What’s the tarot card tell us then, Nick? You know all about the history of this case apparently. What’s it mean?”
He looked at each of them for a moment, lingering the longest on Shelby, whose curious arched brow spoke volumes. Jackie needed to get her alone, and the sooner the better.
“Likely, it means someone resembling Gwendolyn will be next,” he said.
“The wife is next?” Jackie asked.
“So it would indicate,” he said.
She crossed her arms over her chest. Why did she feel like she was being led around by the nose? “So a thirty-something brunette woman will be the next target.”
He nodded. “More than likely.”
Yeah, that narrowed it down. “Anything else, Nick? You know, something we might find useful in catching this guy?”
Nick shrugged. “I wish I had something more for you. Shelby and I have been trying to track him down. We’ve sensed him a couple times, but not strong enough to pinpoint.”
“You can track him?”
“As you recall,” he said with a faint smile, “we can sense spirits. When he’s fairly close or in the process of possessing someone, we get a feeling, but it’s sometimes like tracking down a light in the fog. You don’t actually see it until you’re right on top of it.”
Jackie looked over at Laurel, who nodded in agreement. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t bullshit. God, she hated the supernatural. Why couldn’t ghosts stay where they belonged? “This what you’ve been doing, driving aimlessly around the city? Sniffing out the ghost?”
“Yes, ma’am, it is.”
Her lips puckered, holding in the retort. Ma’am? Really? Jackie couldn’t recall anyone ever referring to her that way. Sadly, she could not discern any condescension in his voice. It almost made it worse that the word was genuine.
“I’ll want locations of every place you’ve sensed this guy and when.”
“It won’t help you—”
“You know what, Nick?” She’d had it with him. “Quit telling me what we can and can’t do. Not one more word. If you do, I’m arresting you for obstruction. Answer my fucking questions. It’s pretty simple. Let us do our job and quit trying to be a hero.”
The relaxed line of his mouth tightened. “As you wish. Ms. Fontaine and I will continue our search, however.”
She wanted to say no but thought better of it. If there was any truth to what he said, it might be they would be the only ones who could find the perp. “Fine. You will inform us the second you detect him. You will let us know when you are searching and when you stop. You will also let our agents continue to follow you and quit trying to lose them.”
Shelby grinned at Jackie, who returned it with a hard stare.
You’re next, Croft girl. We’ll see how much you’re grinning later.
“That’s agreeable,” Nick replied.
Jackie shook her head. “Really. Well, thank you, Mr. Anderson. I’m glad you’ve decided to work with us. Understand you are civilians here, involved in a federal murder investigation. We aren’t partners. Do as you’re told. Stay out of the way when you’re told and, for fuck’s sake, quit trying to hide everything. All you do is turn my suspicions on you, which I still am, by the way. Your story doesn’t ring right with me. If and when I find out you’re bullshitting me, your cozy log cabin here will become a concrete cell.”
“Understood,” Nick said. There was the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
Jackie and Laurel gathered what little information Nick had to give and prepared to leave. He walked them to the door, quiet and polite, holding it open for them as they walked out. Laurel stopped on the threshold and smiled at him.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Anderson. We appreciate your cooperation.” He merely nodded, but she reached out and shook his hand before he could move. Her gaze held his for a moment, while both of her hands clasped his. Jackie noticed the hesitation before he replied, the smile he forced upon his mouth.
“Let me know if there’s anything else. You have my number.”
Laurel nodded, and Jackie stepped aside when Laurel quickly moved out of the house. The ashen look said it all.
God, no hurling on the guy’s front porch. Please.
Nick did not look surprised at all by Laurel’s response.
“We’ll be in touch, Mr. Anderson.”
He nodded. “I know.”
Jackie turned on her heel and left without looking back. In the car, Laurel stuck her head down between her legs and sucked in deep breaths. Jackie laid a comforting hand on her back. “He felt just like Ms. Fontaine did, didn’t he?”
Laurel nodded. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. Did you buy everything in there?”
She sat back up, heaving a big sigh. “Sweet mother, it’s so strong. Some of it. I don’t buy the great-grandfather bit though. I’m convinced he’s the same guy.”
Jackie agreed and pulled out onto the road. “So this blood-feud thing is really a personal attack on Anderson.”
“Think so. Unless of course your split-personality theory is true. It still could be, you know.”
“Maybe. That leaves a lot to be explained though.”
Laurel nodded. “It does.”
“I want to go back to the bank,” Jackie said. “I want to know how the hell the thief got into the vault. What was so strong back there?”
“Nick Anderson.”
“Worse than Fontaine?”
“Yes, but different. He felt . . . more dead.” She laughed nervously. “That makes no sense, I know.
“You’re right, it doesn’t.”
“I don’t know how to adequately explain it, Jackie. It’s like they’re dead. If I closed my eyes and touched either one of them, I’d swear I was touching someone who just died.”
A shiver went down Jackie’s spine. “You don’t need to explain more. Really. When you figure it out tell me, but until—”
Her cell phone rang, and she put it to her ear. “Rutledge.”
“Agent Rutledge, it’s Shelby Fontaine.” Her voice was hushed and hurried.
“Yes?”
“We need to talk. Can you come to my apartment around four?”
“Sure. What’s this about?”
Jackie heard her sigh in background. “Everything. I’m tired of Nick’s bullshit. You need the whole story.”
About fucking time! “We can meet now, Ms. Fontaine. I’m just down the road.”
“No,” she said. “Meet me at four. I’m off to hunt. He’ll be getting the next one soon. Oh. Say hi to Agent Carpenter for me.” The connection abruptly ended.
Jackie stared at the silent phone. “Fuck. I don’t think I like her.”
Laurel laughed. “I do.”
“She could be a killer.”
“Doesn’t mean she can’t be likeable.”
“What’s to like? She’s a little diva wannabe.”
“She’s hot and rides a motorcycle.”
Jackie grimaced. “She could be possessed by some evil fricking ghost, for all we know.”
Laurel sagged back in her seat. “Thanks. Ruin my image, why don’t you?”
Jackie felt bad. She had never once heard Laurel comment on someone else’s looks. She had always been so . . . nonsexual about everyone. “Sorry. Just weird to hear you talk about someone like that, but it’s fine. I comment on cute asses. So can you.”
She was quiet for a long, thoughtful moment. “Thanks, and don’t be sorry. Not your fault I’ve never told you any of this.”
More silence followed, and Jackie felt like squirming in her seat. “So,
Matrix
girl is your type?”
Laurel shrugged. “More or less. She’s cocky, fit, sarcastic, can kick ass, and is obviously loyal to those she cares about. She’s passionate about things and doesn’t give you any bullshit. There’s a soft side there, too. I think.”
“Jesus Christ. Did you two have a date while I was gone? How do you know all that? She hasn’t said more than three sentences.”
“Skills,” she replied with a knowing grin.
“Oh, bullshit.” Jackie laughed. “She just makes you wet.”
She nodded. “That, too.”
“God! I don’t need to know this.”
Laurel pouted at her. “You’re just jealous.”
“She gets cleared, you can jump all over her. Until then, hands off.”
“Same goes for you and cowboy.”
“What! Oh, don’t even go there.”
“He’s just your type, Jackie, but he’s a suspect, so I understand.”
“You understand nothing,” she said. “I wouldn’t touch Nick Anderson with a ten-foot pole even if he was so clean he squeaked.”
“Yes, you would.”
Jackie felt her face flush. “Fuck you. Being friends with you sucks sometimes.”
Laurel smiled—that friendly, warm, no-worries smile that always made Jackie feel better. “Want me to stop being friends then?”
Jackie snorted. “Nah. I’ll take my chances.”
“Good. Because you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”
Chapter 22
The vault at the bank turned up more questions than answers. Like everything else with the case, nobody seemed clear about anything. From what they could tell, the body had just materialized inside the vault. The employees were as clueless as they were upset. So, having wasted a bulk of the day, they drove to Shelby Fontaine’s apartment, situated inside a renovated industrial warehouse with converted lofts. She apparently had money to burn as well.
“Are you fidgeting?” Jackie let her fist drop to her side and brought the Starbucks cup up to her lips. She glanced at the number on the door of Shelby Fontaine’s apartment and back at Laurel.
“No,” she said firmly. A bit too firmly to be believed. “I’m fine.”
“You were fidgeting,” Jackie replied, unsure if she should be amused or worried. “Because of the whole ghost thing?”
Laurel shrugged. “Yeah. I’m just stressing on this case, that’s all. You know, chasing after people who may already be dead.” She smiled at Jackie, but Jackie didn’t buy it.
“You said earlier that you didn’t think they were actually dead—just felt that way.”
“I know, sounds crazy.”
“Yeah, it’s fruitcake crazy. Not supposed to be chasing after vampires. We aren’t supposed to do that kind of shit, but here we are.”
Laurel merely smiled back and nodded.
“You sure you’re okay?”
Laurel reached over and pounded briskly on the door. “I’m fine, damnit. Focus on the case.”
The door opened almost immediately, so fast that Jackie wondered if Shelby had been listening on the other side. “Agents Carpenter and Rutledge. Please come in.”
Said the spider to the flies. Jackie pushed down her nagging annoyance at the woman. It was her job to be somewhat objective, and it was more than the facade she always had going on. She got the feeling the woman was far more dangerous than she appeared. The information they had indicated little, other than that Hauser figured she had to be over one hundred years old. She had done a lot of things in her various incarnations, but nothing obviously illegal beyond some traffic violations and disturbing the peace.
Shelby wore knee-length black spandex and a University of Illinois T-shirt. A pale blue towel was draped around her neck, her wet hair pulled back into a ponytail.
“This a good time?” Laurel said.
Jackie wanted to smack her. Did it matter? She gave Laurel a stern glance and crossed the threshold. “Thanks. I’m glad you decided to speak with us, Ms. Fontaine. Your boss has been less than forthcoming.”
She laughed—a deep, throaty sound leaving no doubt about her amusement. “Nick has it down to an art, Agent Rutledge. He would prefer to tell you absolutely nothing or just enough to make you go away.”
The inside of Shelby’s apartment was an interesting contrast of old Chicago warehouse loft and Victorian England. The furnishings were all antiques, in pristine condition by the look of things, but Jackie was far from an expert on furniture. The place would be featured in some home magazine. The kitchen was partially enclosed on one side of the large space, with a bedroom loft above it. An enormous four-poster bed swathed in gauzy curtains shrouded the area in a cloudy haze. Above them, a large glass chandelier illuminated the space. Outside, Chicago’s wind whipped a light rain against the great wall of windows.
Shelby grabbed a gray sweatshirt off one of the sofas and walked toward the kitchen. “Anything to drink? I’ve got tea and water, but no coffee. Sorry, Agent Rutledge.” She flashed a charming smile over her shoulder at Jackie.
What the hell was that for? “Thanks. I’m sure I’ll manage.”
“Tea,” Laurel said, clearing her throat. “Tea is fine.”
“Earl Grey?”
“Um, yes. That’d be nice.”
Jackie turned to Laurel, a questioning eyebrow cocked up, but Laurel refused to look at her, instead sitting down on one of the pretty little sofas with its frilly throw pillows. Preferring to walk, Jackie kept slowly perusing the space, stopping to idly check on a Tiffany lamp or an old painting on the wall.
A few moments later, Shelby came out with a tray holding a lavishly painted tea set with a pot and two cups. It certainly struck an interesting contrast to the BMW-biker-chick motif she walked around with. Jackie didn’t give her time to stop serving. She was tired of waiting.
“Look, Ms. Fontaine,” Jackie said. “The tea is nice and all, but you said you had the whole story for us.”
Shelby dropped a cube of sugar into Laurel’s tea and handed the cup to her, her hand lingering on Laurel’s for just a moment longer than necessary. Laurel’s faint smile faltered for a second, but Shelby’s flashing teeth and full, lush lips brought it back. “Patience, Jackie. When you’ve been around as long as I have and lived with Nick Anderson, you learn to have some.”
Jackie took a deep breath. “Look, Ms. Fontaine. I don’t know how seriously you take this situation, but I do. I’ve got blood-drained children. I’ve got a suspect and his business partner slash former lover slash fiancé slash whatever, who aren’t really what they appear to be. You and Mr. Anderson have given us nothing but bullshit from the outset, and one or both of you have been lying about this whole thing from the beginning. You tell me that you’re out hunting because there will be a next victim soon. Excuse me if I’m a little short on patience today.”
Shelby grinned at Jackie, and without turning back to face Laurel, said, “Is she always such a hard-ass?”
Laurel paused, assessing her reply. “Pretty much.”
“Explains why Nick finds her so appealing.”
Laurel nearly spit her tea back into her cup, and Jackie found herself momentarily speechless.
“What?” Jackie said.
“Appealing,” Shelby repeated, smirking at Jackie. “He likes you, Agent Rutledge. Your hard edges suit him.”
Jackie avoided glancing at Laurel, who she was sure had some smarmy look on her face. “You would think he’d be a bit more cooperative if he liked me, Ms. Fontaine. I hardly think there is any interest there.”
“If I’m going to help you, Agent Rutledge, you can start by calling me Shelby. I hate Ms. Fontaine. Makes me sound like a third-grade teacher.”
Jackie shrugged. “Fine. Shelby. So what’s the real story?”
Shelby took a deep breath and drank down the rest of her tea. Jackie studied her, wondering if she might be preparing the next round of lies or if indeed she meant to help. After she set down the teacup, Shelby looked up directly at her, those eyes glowing even brighter than Nick’s had. Laurel’s words about them being dead ran through her head, and Jackie looked away.
“First off, I’ll tell you that Nick has been silent in an effort to protect you, Agent Rutledge.”
“I don’t need protecting,” she said. “This is my job, Shelby. Not his.”
“Not just you. Laurel, too. Anyone not personally involved in this.”
Laurel inched forward toward Shelby, her hands steepled under her chin as if she were in prayer, attention riveted.
Jackie wondered what she could be doing. Maybe it was some kind of psychic thing. “Except we
are
involved. What makes this ghost so bad? He sounds much like any other psycho we’ve dealt with before.”
She gave Jackie a wry smile. “For one, he’s a vampire, not a ghost.”
Jackie ignored the sharp inhalation of breath from Laurel, who glanced up at her with a moment of “I told you so” fear.
“The FBI is pretty adept at handling even the worst cases. Drinking blood doesn’t come close to topping our list of worst-case scenarios.”
“That’s the least of your concerns,” she said.
“Well, why don’t you tell us what we should be concerned about then? It’s about time we got some real information out of you two.”
Shelby took a sip from her tea and then got up to walk around. “The man’s name is Cornelius Drake. At least, that’s the name he’s been going by. I don’t know what his real name is.”
The name didn’t ring any bells for Jackie. “Okay, we’ll check that out.”
“Like I said,” she continued, “he’s a vampire, meaning he needs to consume blood to stay alive. Without an adequate supply, he’d be as dead as the day he should’ve died.”
Shelby’s explanation lost her. “What do you mean that he should’ve died?”
Shelby continued pacing, making her way over toward the kitchen. “Some time in the past—who knows when—Cornelius Drake should have died. Something happened that was going to end his life, but he was able, through consuming blood, to draw upon the life force held within that blood to keep himself in the world of the living.”
“And how the hell did he do that?”
Shelby opened her refrigerator and reached inside. She came out with a metallic bottle in her hand. “I don’t know. Someone must have showed him.”
Jackie couldn’t help but be skeptical. The whole thing sounded so absurd. “That’s handy. Here, drink this and you’ll live forever?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” she said. “You have to want it. You need a certain force of will for it to work. At least, I think so.”
Laurel’s voice, shaky and quiet, spoke up. “So that means you and Nick?”
Shelby nodded with a little shrug of a shoulder. “Yes. We’re vampires, too.”
Jackie could tell by Laurel’s expression that there was no disagreement. Lovely. The whole far-fucking-fetched story was true. “This Drake guy show you how?”
She shook her head. “Showed Nick. Nick showed me.”
“Wait. What?” Jackie stared incredulously at the metallic bottle being offered to her by Shelby. “Nick turned you into a vampire? What’s this?”
“Yes, he did. And that,” she said, “is the worst-tasting shit you will ever drink.”
“What is it?”
“Synthetic blood.”
Jackie nearly dropped the bottle. “Blood? This is what you drink?”
She nodded. “Yep. Developed by Nick and his brainiacs over at Bloodwork Industries.”
Jackie handed the bottle off to Laurel, who looked far more intrigued by it than she was. The notion of bottled blood creeped her out. “I see.”
“Why did Nick turn—or, um, show—you how to be a vampire?” Laurel asked, turning the bottle over in her hands.
At that, Shelby gave a sardonic little laugh. “Because he couldn’t let me die.”
“Care to explain?” Jackie said.
“Drake had shot me,” she replied. “This was back in 1934. My guts were practically on the floor, and I was going to die. Nick couldn’t bear to let Drake win, so he did what he thought was his only option.”
Jackie tried to consider if she would want to stay alive if the option were to consume blood to keep living. No. Not a chance in hell. “Why would he do that to you?”
She smiled at Jackie, wistful and knowing. “Love can make you do strange things.”
“That it can,” Laurel whispered.
Jackie gave Laurel a sidelong glance, who turned her gaze quickly away and then held up her teacup. “Can I have a bit more, please?”
Shelby flowed around the couch with the smooth grace of a dancer. “Certainly.”
A knot formed in Jackie’s gut. What was up with Laurel? She was being no use at all with this. “All insanity aside, why not come forward with this? No laws have been broken. Law enforcement is far different now than in 1970.”
“I promised Nick a long time ago that I would never expose him or what was going on. The decision was his to make.”
“It’s getting people killed is what it’s doing,” Jackie stated. “You’ve obviously had no luck stopping him to this point.”
“Agent Rutledge . . . Laurel.” Shelby turned and gave a sweet little smile to Laurel. “You need our help. We need yours. Nick has a lot of blood on his hands and would rather this played itself out without any additional casualties.”
“Chivalrous of him,” Jackie said. “It’s obstruction, too. I should have him arrested.”
The smile on Shelby’s face vanished. “You can’t arrest him. At least, not yet.”
“I didn’t say I was, but I—”
“No.” Shelby shook her head. “Drake will come after him no matter where he is. You won’t be able to stop him.”
Jackie avoided rolling her eyes. Cocky bitch. But her earnestness gave Jackie pause. “Why is this guy so dangerous that even the FBI can’t handle him?”
Shelby’s smile was more of a wince. “He can do things we don’t quite understand. He has power that goes beyond just drinking some blood. Trust me, I know.”
No. Jackie was pretty sure she didn’t want to know about that, but what choice did she have? They needed information. “Give me an example.”
“He can travel in ways that make him untrackable. We’ll sense him someplace, and then, just like that, he’ll be gone. That’s just an annoyance, though, compared to the real power we have, which is this kind of hypnotic control over people.”
“Hypnosis?” Not a trick Jackie had ever had any faith in, but she knew of its possible effects. “So all that movie crap is true?”
She laughed, a bubbling, lively sound that filled the room. “God, no. I love garlic. Crucifixes don’t burn my flesh, and I don’t sleep in a coffin. The sun, however, does bother me.”
“So the whole bright-eyes thing? That’s an effect of being a vampire?” Under other circumstances, Jackie would have laughed at this line of questioning. Even working with Laurel, who had spoken to a ghost or two in her lifetime, would not have taken her into the realm of vampires.
“Oh, these,” Shelby said, her fingers touching the skin beside her eyes. “They’re contacts.”
“I knew it!” Jackie had pegged something right about them at least.
“You don’t want to see the real thing.”
“Perhaps I do,” Jackie said with a defiant tilt of her head.
“Then maybe you’d like to spend the rest of the afternoon polishing my mahogany bedposts?”
“What?”
“It’s what I could have you doing if I caught you in my gaze long enough.”
“Seriously.” Jackie didn’t believe it. A look at Laurel, though, said otherwise. She half expected her to get up and go polishing. Was Shelby working some kind of vampire voodoo on her now?
“Yep.” Shelby nodded. “Unless it’s something that might get you killed. I can bend your will only so far.”
“I see.” Okay, she didn’t really. Jackie was half tempted to take Shelby up on that bet but thought better of it. “And Drake does this to his victims?”