The Protectorate
Patriarch
by
Dana Warryck
Licensed and Produced through
Penumbra Publishing
www.PenumbraPublishing.com
SMASHWORDS
EBOOK EDITION
ISBN/EAN-13: 978-1-935563-06-8
Copyright 2009 Dana Warryck
Also available in print ISBN/EAN-13: 978-1-935563-01-3
Previously published electronically Sept. 2006 by New Concepts Publishing ISBN 1586089536
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Licensing Note: This ebook is licensed and sold for your personal enjoyment only. Under copyright law, you may not resell, give away, or share copies of this book. You may purchase additional copies of this book for other individuals or direct them to purchase their own copies. If you are reading this book but did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, out of respect for the author’s effort and right to earn income from the work, please contact the publisher or retailer to purchase a legal copy.
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The Protectorate
Patriarch
A vampire sworn to protect the secret existence of his people risks everything to save a human child — and love a mortal woman.
Tracking him to a Paducah bar, Protector Aiden Marschant must stop the rogue vampire’s mayhem before he betrays the secret of the Shanrak people. When the rogue strikes again, Aiden finds the victim's infant daughter in her car. Unable to expose his identity to surrender the child to human authorities, and unwilling to let her fend for herself, he makes the ultimate mistake of taking the baby home with him.
Questioning witnesses at the bar, rookie county sheriff's deputy Shanna Preston learns of two men, possible suspects in the young woman’s murder. When the FBI takes over the case, Shanna's determined to help bring down this vicious killer.
Aiden must find someone to care for the human child before she awakens in him a fatherly instinct that could bring on the forbidden bloodlust mating urge. He sets his sights on lovely redheaded Deputy Shanna Preston. But Shanna suspects he's guilty of kidnapping and fears he may be involved in murder. Can Aiden keep his cool around Deputy Preston long enough to stop the dangerous killer? Can Shanna survive the affections of Protector Aiden Marschant and live to tell about it?
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~AUTHOR PREFACE/ACKNOWLEDGEMENT~
This vampire romance is the first installment in a planned series. I’ve taken license with the usual vampire lore (no reflection in mirrors, incineration in sunlight, etc.) to fit the needs of this storyline. Due to sexual and violent content, this book is intended for adult readers.
I must express gratitude to friends, family, and fellow authors too numerous to name, for their time and effort in helping with the development and promotion of this story. You know who you are — thank you!
In particular I’d like to thank C. Fern Cook for her continued camaraderie, and my husband, whose support and understanding help make my writing possible. Any errors are strictly my own.
Happy reading...
Dana Warryck
~~~~~~~~~~
The Protectorate
Patriarch
Paranormal Vampire Romance
by
Dana Warryck
~~~~~~~~~~
CHAPTER 1
Aiden Marschant sat motionless in a darkened corner booth at Smokey Joe’s Roadhouse, trying to ignore the stench of stale beer and burnt barbeque. The dirty wood plank floor beneath his boots vibrated with karaoke country music. He glowered at the stage twenty feet away as the crowd howled and booed at a fat drunk in slouching jeans slobbering on the mike while wailing off-tune like a bobcat caught in a bear trap. Aiden tuned out the noise and focused his attention on a young woman seated at the bar.
Pretty, with cascading brown curls and a ready smile, she wore a low-cut stretchy pink shirt and skin-tight jeans. She flirted skillfully, but Aiden knew she was out of her element, seated next to Cameron Ryben doing his best imitation of a smooth one-night stand. She had no idea what Cam Ryben really wanted.
Aiden scowled at the handsome blond man of medium build. Ryben fancied himself a slick predator above the laws of their people. A gifted amateur, he had received some training within the Protectorate until he’d dropped out of the program. Later he had gone rogue. Now he was nothing more than a rutting animal letting his bloodlust run rampant as he mauled his way through humanity, leaving a trail of dead bodies like a crazed grizzly. Aiden had tracked him across four states, catching up to him in this grungy backwoods roadhouse outside Paducah, Kentucky.
Ryben glanced around, as if sensing he was being watched. Aiden eased out of sight until Ryben relaxed and turned back to his mark to whisper something in her ear. She squirmed on her barstool and giggled, then stood unsteadily. Ryben took her by the arm and guided her to the door.
Aiden followed at a discreet distance until a huge mound of a woman with stringy brown hair stumbled up from her chair and blocked his path. Poured into jeans and a tee shirt big enough to make a circus tent, she yelled obscenities at a beefy, red-bearded man seated at her table. Aiden dodged the woman as she staggered against a nearby table, raising protests from patrons whose drinks threatened to tip over. Her equally inebriated companion lunged at Aiden and roared, “Watch it, asshole!” Aiden shoved past the couple and barged outside.
Leaping off the wooden front porch into the cool spring night, he let the heavy plank door slammed shut behind him, muffling the music still reverberating inside. Frogs chirped in the foggy distance as he darted along haphazard rows of beat-up cars and pickups parked out front. He couldn’t see Ryben or the girl anywhere. Stopping, he stilled his anxiousness and opened his mind to get a fix on Ryben. Immediately a sickening wave of hunger and lust washed over him like a blast of hot water. The scent of warm blood saturated the air, and the amphibian concert stopped. He’d screwed up. He was too late!
Running to the parking lot at the back of the building, he spotted a car with the dome light on. He found the girl sprawled on the gravel like a discarded rag doll, her head twisted aside, and a jagged hole torn in her throat. Her pink top glistened dark red as blood gushed and pooled around her. Aiden snorted at the cloying smell of death, careful not to inhale deeply.
The keys still dangled from the driver’s door of the car. Aiden assumed the car belonged to the murdered girl. With the front and rear doors hanging open, the car’s dome light glowed like a macabre nightlight on the bloodshed. Ryben, in his usual fashion, had ripped open his victim’s throat. But he must have sensed he was being tracked — he’d fled without fulfilling his sexual urges and feasting on the spoils. Aiden knew he’d kill again before the night was done. Cursing, he opened his mind and scanned the area, but sensed Ryben was gone.
Hearing voices, Aiden glanced back at the roadhouse and saw two men approaching in the neon-illuminated fog. He couldn’t afford to be seen near this body. Wrapping himself in calm, he assumed the mental cloak of near invisibility that allowed him to move unnoticed among humans. The men didn’t look his way.
He turned to leave, but stopped when a faint sound like a kitten’s mew came from the rear seat of the car. He glanced at the two men coming closer, then ducked down to peer inside, avoiding the bloody handprints smeared across the top edge of the door opening.
He froze and sucked in a swift breath. Sweet Mother Earth! The bundle strapped in a car seat, a silken-haired cherub wearing a pink sleeper, yawned with her plump arms askew.
Straightening in shock, Aiden glanced at the two men opening the doors of a pickup five cars down. They didn’t seem to notice anything amiss but, with his concentration shaken, he couldn’t be sure they hadn’t spotted him.
He wanted to turn and walk away, but the baby inside the car whined. How could he leave? If he’d been more attentive, he might have prevented her mother’s murder. Still, he couldn’t stick around and get involved unless Ryben was lurking in the area with his urges dampened, waiting for the opportunity to strike again. Could the child be in danger from him? The bloody handprints smudging the roof and doorframe suggested Ryben had noticed her. Perhaps he would have drained her blood too, if he’d had the time.
Aiden grimaced and dared another look inside the car. The baby sat alone, defenseless, strapped in her car seat, with no one to protect her.
I am a Protector.
He shook his head and straightened. Humans had their own government agencies to handle these situations and would place the child with relatives or other proper guardians. He had no business taking responsibility for this tiny human. He wasn’t equipped for such things. His life had no room for a baby.
He turned to the sound of an engine starting. The men in the truck drove out of the parking lot. The roadhouse’s neon sign blinked like a beacon in the mist. He glanced down at the body lying in the pool of blood spreading near his feet. He couldn’t afford to be caught standing over a dead woman, or stick around to answer questions from the police and destroy the anonymity required for his work.
He looked at the building again, figuring someone would find the victim and report her murder. But how long before they did? In the meantime, what would become of the baby? He couldn’t very well leave her sitting in the car, unattended for hours.
Yes, you can. It’s not your responsibility or your duty.
He shook his head again. But I’m a Protector!
The frogs resumed their rhythmic song. A coyote yipped in the distance, and a chorus joined in, seeming to surround him. Aiden swiped a hand across his mouth. The child cried out, and the sound tugged at something inside him he hadn’t realized was there — something he’d worked all his life to ensure would never be there. Obviously his efforts had gone unrewarded. He felt that twinge of compassion twisting in his chest. He knew what he must do.
Oh, hell.
He took a handkerchief from his leather jacket and, careful to avoid brushing against the bloodied doorframe, leaned inside the back of the car. Wrestling with the seat belt strung through the baby’s carrier, he tried not to leave fingerprints as a clue that might link him with this murder-kidnapping.
Murder? Kidnapping?
He hadn’t murdered the woman, and this wasn’t kidnapping. He was just taking the baby for safekeeping. As soon as he could, he’d make sure she was placed with the proper human authorities.
The baby fidgeted and looked up at him, running her chubby fingers across his hair dangling in front of her. He glanced at her wide blue eyes full of curious, trusting innocence, then reached for the car seat. His hands froze mid-motion. If this wasn’t kidnapping, what was it? Who was he trying to fool?
When he withdrew, the child screwed up her rosy face and whimpered. Was she hungry? Wet? He touched her cheek and found her hot, almost feverish. Was she sick? Good grief, he didn’t know anything about taking care of a baby! And Noel and Marta wouldn’t appreciate having the responsibility dumped on them. That would be like asking two Rottweilers to baby-sit. What was he thinking?
As he reached to refasten the seat belt and leave the child just as he found her, she grabbed his index finger. His insides melted, and he let himself smile. “You’re in a lot of trouble, little one, but you have no idea, do you?” His smile turned to a frown when he wondered what would happen to this baby inside Kentucky’s state child welfare system, assuming she survived long enough to be shunted into it. He didn’t want to think about that.
The waif cried louder. He looked over his shoulder, hoping the music filtering outside the roadhouse would drown out her caterwauling. If only he could go back to the bar and report the murder without getting himself involved ... but he couldn’t. Damn it!
You’re a Protector. You do what must be done.
In a blinding flash, he grabbed the car seat, the diaper bag, and a stuffed pink rabbit no bigger than his fist. With the baby in her seat tucked securely under his arm, and her bag straps draped over his wrist, he backed out of the car. Catching sight of the bloody wallet lying near the woman’s body, he ducked down and used his handkerchief to retrieve it. Maybe later he could find some information inside to help him locate the baby’s nearest relatives.
Hugging his newfound charge close to his chest, he paced toward the line of trees glistening in the misty darkness beyond the parking lot. At the edge of the trees his dark blue rental sedan waited. He unlocked the doors, stowed the baby in the back seat and secured her, then dived for the driver’s seat. Starting the car, he resisted the urge to peel out of the parking lot in a fast getaway.
The baby wailed, and he met her anguished gaze in the rearview mirror. “Hush, little one. You’ll be all right.” She calmed at the sound of his voice — an effect he could induce at will. He smiled, shook his head, then frowned. “You’ll be all right, but will I? Right now, I’m having serious doubts.”
* * * * *
At 2:17 a.m., County Sheriff’s Deputy Shanna Preston eyed Darryl Goggins, the bartender on duty at Smokey Joe’s Roadhouse when the murder had occurred. Skinny and scruffy, he wore a sleeveless black tee shirt with a Goth band emblem emblazoned across the chest — a skull and scythe. She wondered about his drug of choice. Meth? Judging by the way his eyes had sunk into their sockets and his teeth had turned askew, she figured that was it. A damned semi-rural epidemic.
Despite his suspected drugged-out state, he’d given a solid description of the man who’d left with nineteen-year-old Melody Jean Hanks just before she’d been killed. Medium build, height about six feet tall. Wavy, shoulder-length, honey-blond hair. Dark eyes, maybe brown. No visible scars. Good looking, “if you’re into guys,” which the bartender assured her he was not.
She snapped her report pad shut. “Okay, Mr. Goggins. If you remember anything else, be sure to give me a call.” She handed him a business card, a precious commodity she’d fought hard to get ... like the respect of her peers. She stifled a sneer.
Back at the station the men treated her as a joke — too new to know anything about real police work, and too young and pretty to be a deputy for the McCracken County Sheriff’s Department. They judged her by her petite package, but they didn’t know her at all. She wagered she could outshoot any of them, and she knew some special moves that would help her kick their strutting, good-ol’-boy asses in a fair fight. She would change her situation one step at a time, and doing her job well was part of that plan.
But sometimes doing a good job was more difficult than she expected, especially when she felt like gagging. It wasn’t that she’d never seen a dead body before. Having to identify her parents after their car accident was the worst nightmare she could possibly imagine. But when she and Deputy Jake Fenshaw took a look at Miss Hanks’ body, she was lucky not to toss her cookies. She suspected a coyote had wandered over to the body and eaten away part of the throat before the two customers leaving the bar had discovered it. But Jake had insisted with a gleam in his eyes that this was the work of the infamous serial killer dubbed by the media as the Bloodsucker, wanted in four states for the gruesome murders of over forty women in the past two months.
She couldn’t deny Melody Hanks’ murder bore garish similarities to the MO of the Bloodsucker. The possibility that the murderer had relocated his operation to Paducah made Shanna a teensy bit leery of stepping outside alone in the dark.
“Well, there was somethin’ else,” Goggins volunteered after a moment, bringing Shanna back from her musing. “I mean, somebody else who kinda caught my attention.”
Shanna flipped open her report pad and prepared to jot down additional notes. No telling what tiny detail might become important later. “Go on, Mr. Goggins,” she urged in a friendly tone, chastising herself for letting Jake pull her chain about some insane serial killer. Why would he come to Paducah? She winced inwardly when the answer echoed in her mind ... why wouldn’t he? There were plenty of potential victims available here, just like any other small city embedded in a rural area. Maybe he thought the police force wouldn’t be prepared to handle his antics. And he maybe he was right.
“Well, it was probably nothin’,” Goggins mumbled. “But there was this other guy...”
Shanna zeroed her eyes on him. “At the bar?”
Goggins shook his head of drab, scraggly dishwater-blond hair. “Nope. He just sort of appeared all of a sudden, out on the floor, in the middle of the tables. I didn’t remember seein’ him until that blond dude was walkin’ out the door with the girl that got killed.”
“Why did this second man catch your attention?”
“He looked like he was in a hurry. You know, like he was followin’ the guy and the girl.” Goggins shrugged his bony shoulders. “At least that’s what it seemed like. He bumped into some folks at a table, and they raised a ruckus. Then he rushed out.”
Shanna warmed with excitement. Another possible lead. “Could you describe this man?”
Goggins shrugged again. “It was kinda dark, and I didn’t get a good look at him. But he was tall. Like over six feet. He had really long, dark hair, and a black leather jacket.”
“Motorcycle jacket?”
“Longer. More like an overcoat. About knee-length.”
Shanna smiled. A better description than she’d expected. “Anything else?”
Goggins shook his head.
“Okay. Thanks for your cooperation, Mr. Goggins. We may want to contact you again later.”
He grinned. “Sure thing — if it’s you doin’ the contactin’.”
Smiling evenly, Shanna ignored the heavy hint and closed her pad. She turned to Deputy Fenshaw interviewing a couple sitting at a nearby table. He towered over them, big and imposing with his shaved head and holstered sidearm. Everybody in the bar seemed very cooperative — probably hoping they wouldn’t get tagged with a DUI on the way home.
Jake closed his pad and strolled toward her. “All done here, Preston?”
Shanna nodded. “The bartender gave me the names of two regulars who left just after the victim and her escort. He also mentioned another possible suspect and gave me a description.”
“Okay,” Jake said. “We’ll question the regulars later. I think the meat truck just left, so I guess the coroner’s finished. Let’s go back outside and see how they’re wrapping things up.”
When Shanna followed Jake out the door, he said, “Whoa, looks like we got company.” She looked around him, annoyed to see a dark-colored, late-model government-issue sedan parked askew in the lot near the victim’s car. When she spied the suits swarming around like locusts, she figured the Department of Criminal Investigations was on the job. Her enthusiasm for the case faded.
She knew the drill. DCI, created by Attorney General Jack Conway through executive order to replace the Kentucky Bureau of Investigation, the commonwealth’s counterpart of the FBI, would take over from here. DCI officers were supposed to provide investigative support for local authorities, but they wouldn’t appreciate the help of lowly sheriff’s deputies. They’d take the information she and Jake had gathered and then dismiss them as bumbling amateurs.
Damn! This was their case, their turf, and she had as much right as anyone else to help catch the bastard who did this. But she knew she’d never get the chance. Single and permanently relegated to the night shift, all she’d ever handle were domestic-disturbance interventions, Saturday night DUI roadblocks, and emergency traffic calls. She knew she was capable of more — so much more.
“I’ll go see what’s going on,” Jake announced. “You might as well go on home, Preston. Your shift was over an hours ago. We’ll touch base tomorrow.”
Jake had several years of seniority on her, and she knew arguing with him to stay put wouldn’t accomplish anything. “Yeah, whatever. ‘Night.” She sighed, shaking her head as she walked to her patrol car.
She felt for the victim’s family, knowing what it meant to lose loved ones to violent death. She wanted to be more than just a shadow doing cleanup work in the background. But what else could she do? No one could change what had happened here tonight. The only way she’d be of service to herself, the victim’s family, and the community was to help take down this vicious animal and make sure he didn’t kill again. Somehow she had to stay on this case, whether DCI liked it or not.
As far as she knew the Sheriff’s Department was entitled to provide a representative to interface with DCI on this case. She just hoped she could convince Sheriff Grainger she was worthy of the job. And maybe, for once, he’d give her a break and let her choose her own assignment — one that could actually mean something for a change.
Yeah, right. Fat chance. She’d have a better luck getting hit by lightning in a snowstorm. Still, she had to try.
She unlocked her patrol car, then stopped to look around at the trees towering in the damp mist. Shaking off the edginess tightening her shoulders, she slid in behind the wheel and shut the door. She’d talk to Grainger tomorrow, as soon as the morning shift started.
~~~~~~~~~~
CHAPTER 2
“Oh, bloody hell, Aiden! Why’d ye have to go and do a fool thing like bringin’ a human’s baby home with ye? Nothin’ good’ll come of it, I’ll tell ye that right now.”
Leaning against the granite counter in the kitchen, Aiden eyed Noel, his vassal for more years than he cared to count. Noel swiped a gnarled hand through his wild shock of white hair and shook his head in obvious disgust. Aiden took a deep breath and glanced aside at the child sitting attentively in her car seat on the counter. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“Of course ye had a choice, man! Ye could’ve left the little bugger right where she was! It’s not for us to be takin’ in human strays. Ye can’t tame ’em, ye can’t train ’em, and ye sure as hell can’t keep ’em. They’re neither fit pets nor good companions, and ye know that!”
Aiden slid a hand beneath his curtain of hair to rub the back of his taut neck. Noel was right. He knew he was right. When he held the baby or just looked at her, he felt a frightening warm, soft twinge in his chest. It was an unfamiliar sensation he didn’t know how to handle.
The stringy old man rambled across the tiled kitchen floor and faced him. “I could understand if ye had a touch of the bloodlust, and it was a woman ye was bringin’ to the house. But a baby? What in bloody hell are we to do with a baby?”
Aiden folded his arms across his chest and shook his head. He had no answer for Noel’s legitimate concern.
“Mayhap ye wasn’t thinkin’ straight. And, by the way, what the hell was ye thinkin’?”
Shrugging, Aiden swiped a hand over his face. He knew he had to protect the child. That was the only urgent thought in his mind, and it alone had spurred him to take her away from the scene of her mother’s murder.
“Mayhap it was the bloodlust workin’ its neediness on ye. The lure of fatherhood can be very strong when there’s a little one around. Get’s a fella thinkin’ what he might be missin’, not havin’ a wife ’n’ all.”
Aiden scowled. “I have no desire for fatherhood, and I have completely sublimated all urges of bloodlust.”
“But if the bloodlust took hold of ye, would ye even recognize the signs, seein’ how it’s been so long since ye last trained for it?”
“I know the signs and have experienced none of them.”
Noel grunted. “Still, it’s an urge most of us suffer, and Masters have it the worst. To ignore it goes against the grain. Considerin’ all ye’ve given up, surely the Enclave would overlook one time of backslidin’—”
“I am a Protector,” Aiden growled, shoving away from the counter. “As such, I’ve sworn never to take a mate. I have never yielded to the bloodlust and don’t intend to start now.”
“Well, mayhap ye don’t intend to, but ye’ve had to fight the urge a long time without a proper outlet. Excuse me for speakin’ ill of the Enclave’s rules, for they surely do think they know better, but I still say it’s not natural.”
Noel rubbed his chin, scruffy with white stubbles, and narrowed his eyes. “Supposin’ ye did have a wee slip-up? Once ye was done with yer mark, one glance from ye, and she’d forget all that happened.”
Perking one eyebrow, Aiden gave his vassal a sharp warning glare. “I hope you’re not suggesting I find some hapless human woman and relieve myself.” The release of control even once could open a floodgate he might never be able to close. After going so long without appeasing the urge, he could end up worse off than rabid Cameron Ryben. Then who would put him down?
Noel gave him a sideways glance and shrugged. “I wasn’t suggestin’ anythin’. But supposin’ somethin’ unforeseen happened, and ye was overcome by the urge? Takin’ a human woman would be one way to curb it for a time. All I’m sayin’ is, perhaps ye should ... make arrangements. Just in case. Find yerself a likely—”
“No.”
“But—”
“The subject is not open for further discussion.”
“Well, I just thought...”
When Noel’s objections sputtered to a halt, Aiden turned his attention to the baby. “The only concern now is the child’s safety. Cam Ryben might have killed her too if I hadn’t been there.”
“Ye would’ve been better off lettin’ him have her,” Noel mumbled.
Aiden turned on his faithful servant and scowled at that appalling statement.
“I’m just sayin’ a Protector hidin’ a human baby won’t go well with the Enclave. She’ll bring nothin’ but trouble down on us if they discover—”
“The Enclave doesn’t need to know. Just take care of her.”
“Like bloody hell I’ll take care of her! Are ye daft? We should cart the waif off to the nearest church doorstep straight away and be rid of her!”
“We’ll do nothing of the sort, Noel Eugene Montgomery,” Marta announced as she breezed into the kitchen with her usual commanding scowl, board-stiff posture, and sleek gray hair pulled back in a tight bun at her nape. “And you’ll cease that yelling right now. You’re frightening the child.”
When she shot Aiden a scorching glare, he stepped out of her way. She took the baby in her arms and turned on him, ordering, “And you, Master Aiden, will not pass off this duty to us. We are your sworn servants and will aid you in whatever tasks you deem necessary. But you brought the child here, and you must take charge of her care for the short time she’ll be here.” She thrust the baby at him. “She needs a bath and a fresh diaper.”
Aiden backed away. “I know nothing about—”
“You will learn.”
Stumbling against the table behind him, Aiden couldn’t escape as Marta pressed the baby into his arms. He dangled the child, keeping her at a distance when he got a whiff of the unpleasant odor emanating from her. She whined with uncertainty.
“Bring her over to the sink,” Marta ordered. “I’ve laid out towels and cloths. You’ll need some disposable wipes to clean her up before you put her in the bathwater. I saw a packet in the diaper bag. Fetch it, Noel.”
Noel hopped to attention as Aiden followed Marta’s instructions. Still holding the child at arm’s length, Aiden eyed her with wariness. In the line of duty he had been forced to bring down many a rogue in bloody battles, but this chore, he feared, would make his previous deadly exploits seem tame in comparison. “I’ll see about making alternate arrangements for the child as soon as possible,” he mumbled.
Marta frowned. “Yes, I trust you will, Master Aiden.”
* * * * *
Ensconced naked in his plush king-size bed under the soft glow of the bedside lamp, Aiden propped himself up on an elbow and glanced at his closed door. The baby’s squalling protests still echoed in his mind, making him cringe. Finally, after the fiasco of the dirty diaper and the slick-as-a-greased-piglet bath in the kitchen sink, the two-story house stood quiet. Across the hall in a room he used for storage, the baby slept in a makeshift crib fashioned from a large, open-top cardboard box filled with extra pillows and bedding.
The baby. Her name was Jewel Ann Hanks, and she was nine months old. He knew that after searching her dead mother’s wallet and finding various pictures with her name and photo dates written on the back. Her birthdate handwritten on the back of the earliest picture showing Jewel Ann as a newborn gave him the clue he needed to calculate her age.
He also knew Melody Jean Hanks’ legal address, according to her driver’s license, which might come in handy if the address was still valid. Jewel Ann needed fresh clothes and food, and any other useful supplies they might find. They could of course purchase what they needed, but Aiden wondered if Jewel Ann might be attached to specific toys at home.
He lay back against his pillows and stared up at the soft shadows cast about the trey ceiling. Marta and Noel had retired for the remainder of the night, of which there wasn’t much left. In another few hours, daylight would break the somber peace of darkness, and the human world would come alive with its usual hustle and bustle. This he knew without consulting a clock. Subtle signs from his body told him.
But his body didn’t warn him that he would rest little with a baby in the house. That news came in the form of a piercing shriek. He tossed back the covers and lurched from bed, stepping into his discarded silk boxers as he raced for the door.
Bursting into the baby’s temporary quarters, he rushed to the box crib and peered down, afraid he’d find little Jewel Ann smothering or otherwise suffering.
When she saw him, she whimpered and reached for him. He lifted her out of the box and held her sleeper-clad little body against his naked chest. “This is not a fit bed for you, is it, my princess?” She wrapped her chubby arms around his neck, crushing his dark tresses in her tiny fingers. He hugged her and bounced her gently, breathing in her soft, powdery scent — a definite improvement over her pre-bath state. “I suppose you’ll just have to stay in my room until we can find you more suitable sleeping accommodations.”
Still jostling her in his arms, he turned to find Marta and Noel in their robes, standing in the doorway, glowering at him. He held up a hand. “Everything’s fine. Go back to bed.”
As he walked toward his bedroom, they parted to let him pass. Laying Jewel Ann down in his bed, he tucked the comforter up to her plump chin. “There. How’s that? Comfy now?”
He looked up to find Marta and Noel standing in his doorway, watching him with keen interest. Not liking the puzzled frowns they wore, he shooed them off with a swish of his hand. “To bed with you. I’m handling this.”
Finally Noel turned with a snort and grumbled under his breath, “Blasted baby’ll wreck everything. Best get rid of her now. Make a stew of her. There’s the ticket.”
Marta gave her mate a parting smack on the back, then scowled at Aiden from the doorway. “He’s right, you know. That baby’s going to turn everything topsy-turvy. You, your emotions, your duties as a Protector. There’s a killer on the loose, and look at you, doting like a proud father. You don’t have time for this. And who knows what other emotions her presence will awaken in you? You can’t afford to lose your focus and your self-control, Aiden. She has to go. As sweet as she is, you can’t keep her.”
Aiden grimaced and climbed into bed beside the baby, who turned and smiled at him. He warmed with an unsettling giddy feeling and tweaked her cheek. When he looked up, he found Marta still staring him down. He reached for the bedside lamp. “I said I’d take care of it.”
“See that you do, Aiden. And quickly.”
With the light off, he heard Marta shuffle away. Taking the baby in his arms, he felt the cozy heat of her tiny body permeate his skin and warm his chest, making him aware of the emptiness there. He’d felt that cold hollowness for so long, he hadn’t realized it was a space waiting to be filled. Filled with what?
He sighed and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about it right now. He just wanted to rest. When morning came, he’d deal with what had to be done.
* * * * *
At 9:15 a.m., Deputy Shanna Preston stood in the hallway outside the county’s basement morgue. Turns out, DCI didn’t get to handle the Bloodsucker murder at Smokey Joe’s for long. The FBI was quick to step in and take over. They’d wasted no time setting up a task force to include liaisons from DCI and local law enforcement, including the sheriff’s department. Apparently they wanted to catch that bastard serial killer bad enough that they went against the normal grain to include others in their efforts, and presumably share their information. Perhaps their ‘need to know’ approach would be taking a back seat in this investigation.
She should have been ecstatic that, at her adamant request, Sheriff Grainger had assigned her as a liaison to the FBI’s task force — like Grainger actually believed they’d let her help. She knew the real reason she’d been given this assignment. Grainger, the fat bastard, had already assigned a detective from the department, in the same breath stating the task force was a waste of time. If they hadn’t caught the killer after forty-some murders, he’d grumbled, they never would. He just wanted her to get up early and run around as the FBI’s lackey after spending half the night investigating the murder of Melody Hanks. What did Grainger care if she was used to sleeping during the day and would have to change her schedule? As long as she was out of the office and off his duty roster, he was tickled pink. With a grimace, she reminded herself she’d asked for it, and he’d gladly given her the assignment. She had no one to blame but herself.
Scowling over her own arrogant stupidity, Shanna looked up when she heard the clacking of FBI Agent Victoria Reissenor’s sensible dress pumps accompanied by the listless shuffle of house slippers. Tall, and thin, Agent Reissenor wore a business-like frown on a narrow face framed by straight blonde hair pulled back with a barrette at her nape. Attired in a smart pinstripe jacket and matching skirt, she escorted Crystal Hanks to identify the body of her daughter Melody.
According to the records Shanna had been allowed to review, Mrs. Hanks was forty-five, but she looked seventy with her gray, frazzled hair and dumpy, overweight body devoid of any detectible muscle tone. Her suspected affiliation with known drug dealers, including one who was currently listed as her live-in boyfriend, could possibly explain her lackluster appearance.
Mrs. Hanks cringed with a sob and staggered, letting Agent Reissenor support her by grabbing her arm. “Why would anybody wanna hurt my sweet Melody?” she wailed. “And my grandbaby! Why would they take an innocent little child?”
Shanna stared at the floor, wondering the same thing. She didn’t want to think of the child’s fate after seeing the condition of the mother’s body. She’d learned from Agent Reissenor’s brief review of the FBI’s ongoing investigation that Melody Hanks’ murder was the second most recent in a string of killings spanning four states from Minnesota to Kentucky over a two-month period.
Forty-three deaths so far, with the same MO. The victims were all women in their early twenties to late forties, sexually molested before, during, or sometimes after the throat was torn open. Evidence of teeth marks showed a bite pattern identifiable as human, but the canines were unnaturally oversized. Most of the bodies were left drained of blood. With a jugular wound, the body would pump itself dry, but the estimated volume of blood left at the murder scenes rarely matched what would be expected. At each scene, several pints remained unaccounted for. Consumed, carried off, who could be sure? With bite marks, it was easy to assume the killer ingested a certain amount of his victims’ blood — and the unfortunate leak of that information to the media prompted his highly publicized nickname, the Bloodsucker.
Semen, saliva, and hair samples — even some skin and blood found under some victims’ fingernails — should have made DNA typing of the killer easy. But the crime lab still had difficulty detailing the culprit beyond his blond hair and Caucasian skin. From insufficient blood samples they deduced the killer possibly had a problem with his hemoglobin. A preliminary analysis suggested his blood suffered a mutation that made him chronically anemic. More precise genetic data was needed to confirm the hypothesis. That information was kept from the media. It was bad enough they were slinging the name Bloodsucker around. Nicknaming the killer with that ridiculous moniker gave him a comic-book aura that cheapened the devastation of the murders he’d committed.
Shanna looked up as Agent Reissenor passed in front of her with Mrs. Hanks. What had made Melody Hanks a target for murder? Maybe she was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. At first pass it could have seemed like a random incident, or the result of a copycat killer. Melody hadn’t been molested. The blood at the crime scene matched the expected volume, so presumably the killer hadn’t consumed or carried off any, like in previous murders. But everything else added up — the sighting of a blond-haired suspect combing the sleazy bar for his next mark, the jugular wound, the teeth marks. Shanna bet it was the same killer, and apparently so did the FBI. The only difference in this and previous murders, according to Agent Reissenor, was the killer apparently had been interrupted — perhaps by the unidentified dark-haired man in the leather coat. The bartender at Smokey Joe’s Roadhouse said the dark-haired man had rushed out after Melody and her escort. Had he somehow guessed what was going to happen and tried to stop it? Or was he an accomplice?
The metal door to the morgue clanged shut, and Shanna cringed, forbidding herself to recall the details of her own trip to the morgue to identify her parents more than a year ago. She knew what Mrs. Hanks was going through, but she didn’t want to empathize too much and lose her detached professionalism. She couldn’t afford to appear too emotional in front of peers. Shaking off her defeatist fears, she almost reached a state of calm until she heard Mrs. Hanks scream in despair. A second later, Agent Reissenor ducked her head out the door and waved a dollar bill. “Get a soda. She’s collapsed.”
Shanna rushed down the hall to a small cantina of vending machines she’d scoped out earlier. The dollar changer was empty, so she fished in her pockets for enough loose change to buy a soft drink.
Hurrying back to the morgue door, she opened it and saw Agent Reissenor crouched on the concrete floor, motioning her inside. She closed the door, ignoring the pungent chemical odor as she glanced at the white sheet draped over the human-shaped form on the metal gurney. She gulped several times and glanced away from the drain under the gurney as she stepped forward with the drink can.
Agent Reissenor and the medical examiner, a plump balding man in a white coat, tried to help Mrs. Hanks stand up. Finally they wrestled her to a nearby straight-back metal chair next to the sickly green metal desk parked against the far wall. Shanna handed over the soda, then stepped back a respectful distance, staring at her black polished shoes while Mrs. Hanks moaned and sobbed to the point of hyperventilating.
Once Agent Reissenor forced the woman to take a few swallows of the soda, her sobbing subsided. Trembling with weakness or rage — Shanna wasn’t sure which — Mrs. Hanks demanded, “I don’t care what you have to do, get the bastard that did this to my poor Melody. And find my grandbaby.”
* * * * *
Shanna thought about having lunch with Agent Reissenor and her partner, Agent Roger Norris, but after spending the morning in the morgue, she decided she needed a little quiet time to herself. Driving her patrol car down Route 62, she arrived at Lady Mae’s Café, a mom-and-pop diner she’d discovered on her routine patrols of the area. With its roadside ambience — gravel lot, country floral wallpaper, and Formica tables — the little restaurant offered a good opportunity to hide out unobserved. Shanna just needed some time to herself, to think and unwind a little.
At 11:10, she’d managed to beat the main lunch rush of regulars patronizing Lady Mae’s. A slender, smiling, middle-aged woman with the nametag Nora came and took her drink order — coffee, black. Shanna couldn’t concentrate on the menu enough to consider what food she might be able to keep down. She sighed and rubbed her forehead as Nora left.
“Mind if I join you?”
Shanna frowned, curious about the smooth baritone voice daring to interrupt her solitude. When she glanced up and caught sight of the long black leather coat, she lurched and reached for her gun.
“You’re perfectly safe,” the male voice assured as the coat — and its owner — slid into the booth seat opposite her. She looked up and met the most amazing green eyes she’d ever seen. She froze, then went limp. Her hand slid harmlessly to her lap.
“You helped investigate the murder at the bar last night,” her uninvited guest said. It was a statement, not a question.
Shanna wanted to ask how he knew that, but the tingling numbness cascading through her body as she appraised the gorgeous man before her kept her mouth from forming words. His thick, almost black mane shone with dazzling auburn highlights and billowed about his aristocratic face and broad shoulders as if possessing a life of its own. His light golden skin shimmered with an inner glow, like hand-rubbed marble. Dark lashes rimmed sparkling emerald cat eyes that assessed her with the arrogance of a sheik inspecting a new harem slave. His long, straight nose led to lush, expressive lips that spread in a smile as he whispered, “Like what you see, deputy?”
She scowled, managing to break free of his odd spell. “You were seen leaving the bar moments before the murder. You’re wanted for questioning in connection with the death of Melody Hanks, and the kidnapping of her infant daughter. The FBI’s put a BOLO out on you.”
A sexy quirk to his luscious lips made look as if he were almost smiling. “I saw it on the news. But it’s highly unlikely anyone will ID me from that vague description and the terrible likeness the police sketch artist rendered.” He huffed and toyed with the bright red-dyed carnation sitting in a bud vase on the table between them. He seemed disappointed his gorgeous likeness hadn’t been captured better.
Shanna sat there, staring at him with her mouth open. He didn’t act worried, and that worried her. “I’m duty-bound to bring you in.”
“Yes, I suppose you are.” He sat back against the booth seat with a sigh. “But first, could we talk and perhaps have a bite of lunch?”
She glared at him, unable to come up with a suitable retort to his audacity.
He held up an elegant, powerful hand. “I promise not to make trouble or to try to elude you. I simply want to talk.”
She shook her head as she eyed him in amazement. “How did you know I was connected with the case?”
He shrugged and clasped his hands together on the tabletop. “I saw you converse with two individuals possessing the general appearance and demeanor of government investigators. It’s no secret the FBI is tracking what they believe is a common serial killer. When you left the morgue parking lot in your patrol car, I followed you here.” He shrugged again and lifted his hands, as if to suggest the deduction had been mind-numbingly simple.
She leaned forward, bracing herself against the table with her hands. “You were casing the morgue?”
He shrugged again.
She sat back with a huff, thinking she should cuff him right now and drag his handsome ass in for questioning. But something told her she’d find out more about this case if she let him have his way for a while and talk as he said he wanted. “What’s your connection with this case, Mr.—”
“Marsh. Aiden Marsh. You may call me Aiden.”
She smirked. “And I suppose that’s your real name?”
“It’s close enough. How may I address you, Deputy...” He leaned forward slightly to eye the nametag sewed to her breast pocket. “Deputy Preston,” he clarified, letting his gaze linger on her breasts a moment too long before looking up to meet her eyes.
“Deputy Preston is sufficient,” she shot back.
He rolled his amazing eyes. “Come now. What possible harm is there in telling me your first name?”
She screwed up her mouth. She didn’t like his smarmy attitude, but something in his eyes made her want to tell him every secret she harbored, every dirty little fantasy she enjoyed. And she was having a doozy right now that involved him sans clothing. She cleared her throat and blurted, “Shanna.”
“That’s better.” He bowed his glorious head. “Shanna Preston, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Look, I don’t know what—”
“Oh,” Nora the waitress interrupted, setting Shanna’s coffee in front of her. “Will the gentleman be joining you for lunch?”
“No, he’s not st—”
“What’ll you have, hon?” Nora asked, turning to the mysterious Mr. Marsh. The moment he looked up at her, her face went slack with a drooling, dreamy smile as she waited for his response.
“Same as the deputy. Black coffee, please. Decaf.”
Nora loitered for a second with a simpering grin, then gushed, “Right away, sir. I’ll be back in a moment to take your order.” She left, not giving Shanna a second look.
Shanna frowned. “You seem to have a way with the ladies.”
He shrugged yet again, as if his allure were a common and expected occurrence.
“Look, Mr. Marsh—”
“Aiden. Please.”
“Aiden.” She huffed. “You’re a material witness — maybe a suspect — in a federal crime. I can’t just sit here and have a friendly chat with you over lunch.”
“Why not?”
“Because ... because it’s not proper procedure.”
He leaned forward, his mesmerizing eyes glittering as he whispered, “Sometimes proper procedure interferes with getting the job done.”
Her mouth dropped open again. She couldn’t believe this guy. “That may be true, but to get the job done right—”
“I didn’t murder Melody Hanks,” he said in a grim, matter-of-fact tone, “but I do have her daughter.”
~~~~~~~~~~
CHAPTER 3
Before lovely Deputy Preston could say anything, Aiden put up a hand and whispered, “The baby is safe and in good health. No harm has come her, I assure you.”
He watched her, not sure how she’d react. When she scowled and reached down for the radio on her utility belt, he leaned forward. “Before you sic the dogs on me, just hear me out. Please.”
She stuttered and huffed, then blurted under her breath, “You kidnapped a baby from a murder scene!”
“I didn’t kidnap her,” Aiden insisted, stiffening his back.
He marveled at the various emotions warring over Shanna Preston’s delicate features as she considered his statement. Finally she stilled her expression and glared at him. “Why’d you take her?”
“To protect her.”
“From what — whom?”
“Legitimate questions on both counts.”
She blanched, her face glowing like an exquisite porcelain mask framed by shimmering copper tresses. He imagined touching her smooth young skin and running his fingers through her hair, crushing it in his fists. The idea startled him — where had it come from? He exhaled carefully to ease away the growing tightness in his chest.
Shanna sat back in her seat and eyed him. “You know the murderer’s identity, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Your coffee, sir.” Nora, their waitress, set the steaming cup in front of him and grinned. “Ready to order?”
Without a menu, Aiden looked up and asked, “Do you have flapjacks?”
“Pancakes? Yes, we serve them during breakfast hours.”
“But not during lunch?”
“No, sorry. But we do have a lot of other tasty choices.”
He eyed his lovely companion and smiled. “I like the word flapjacks. Don’t you? It’s an amusing term.”
Shanna blinked, then gave him a deadpan smirk. “Yeah, downright hilarious.”
“My apologies, Nora,” he said, looking back at the waitress. “I realize you’re busy. I’ll take a chef’s salad — no ham, no cheese, no eggs, and no dressing.”
“Just ... lettuce and tomatoes and onions?”
“Yes — but leave off the tomatoes and onions too, please.”
“Maybe you’d like just a house salad, hon. It doesn’t come with many extras.”
“Whatever you think, Nora. But leave out everything I mentioned.”
“No problem. How about croutons?”
“Why not? What fun is life if you can’t splurge once in a while?” Aiden eyed Deputy Preston gawking at him, and smiled.
“What’ll you have, ma’am?” Nora said, turning to Shanna.
Finally Shanna looked away from him. “Cheeseburger and fries. No lettuce, no tomato, no mayo.”
The instant Nora left, Shanna zeroed her gaze back at him. “What’d you mean, ‘legitimate on both counts’? Are we talking about a man — or some kind of animal?”
Leaning forward, he sniffed his coffee — horrible stuff — and considered Shanna across the table. “Both.”
She sat back in her seat. He could tell she didn’t trust him and didn’t believe him, but was nevertheless intrigued as she demanded, “Where is the baby? Why haven’t you returned her?”
“She’s at my home, being cared for by trusted associates. And to whom would I return her? The grandmother whose live-in boyfriend deals drugs?” He scowled at the thought of Jewel Ann staying in that filthy hellhole. After he’d gone there to check things out, it had taken him all of two minutes to figure out Melody Hanks’ mother was not a fit candidate to care for her orphaned grandchild.
“Have you considered why Melody Hanks would choose to take her daughter with her barhopping and leave her unattended in a locked car rather than let her mother watch her? If the child’s mother wouldn’t trust her safety to the grandmother, I wouldn’t dare turn her over to the woman.”
He could tell by the frown shadowing Shanna Preston’s face that she knew or suspected enough about the grandmother’s background and character to agree with his assessment.
“Then why not take her to Family Services?” Shanna challenged.
He rolled his eyes. “And have her shuffled among orphanages and foster homes, never knowing what might happen to her? I don’t think so. She deserves a stable family environment, with parents who want to adopt her and raise her as their own. And were I to approach the authorities with the child, I’d have to explain how she came under my guardianship. I’m not prepared to handle the awkwardness of that scenario.”
Shanna eased out a breathless laugh. “You can’t just keep the baby. She doesn’t belong to you.”
He held out his hands, palm-up. “Now you see my dilemma. I hoped you could help.”
She blinked her aqua-blue eyes, and he found himself wanting to delve further to discover what secrets they held. He swallowed the urge and leaned back to avoid another whiff of his rank coffee. “My temperament and lifestyle are ill-suited to caring for a young child, and my associates are dedicated to other duties.”
“What do you expect me to do? You haven’t left many options.”
He shrugged. “You’re a woman. I assume childcare would come more naturally to you.”
She laughed, looked aside, laughed again, then scowled at him. “I don’t appreciate sexual stereotyping, Mr. Marsh, or whatever the hell your real name is. And I’m a single woman working nights for the Sheriff’s Department. My lifestyle doesn’t lend itself to the care and attention a baby requires either.”
“But you do plan to have children of your own someday, don’t you?” Not knowing why he asked that question, he masked his confusion with a smooth smile.
“What does that have to do with anything?” She leaned forward. “I should haul your ass in right now. I don’t even know why I’m sitting here talking with you.”
“Because you want to. You enjoy my company as much as you want to learn specifics about the serial killer the FBI has been tracking for the last two months.” She blinked again, and he knew he’d startled her to silence once more.
When she ran a hand over her mouth and stared at the table, her vulnerability hit him square in the gut. She was small but determined. He didn’t understand what her life was like, but he could tell by her body language and general demeanor that she spent most of her time on the defensive. He didn’t like the idea she had to be tough to make it in her world, but he knew adversity fostered strength. That’s how he’d managed to become a successful Protector, by pitting himself against adversity others of his kind shied from. In her own way, the lovely Shanna Preston was trying to be a kind of protector too. He could sense in her the need to do what she felt was right.
“Help me,” he whispered. “Help me find a good home for the child, where she will be cared for and loved.”
Shanna gaped, then shook her head. “You know I can’t do that. It’s not proper procedure. By law, the child’s grandmother is entitled to legal guardianship. If I helped you circumvent returning the child to her, I’d become an accessory to kidnapping.”
He managed a smile, realizing this human woman was in no position to fulfill his request, and he had no right to jeopardize her situation by asking. He’d risked much just contacting her, but instinctively he knew she wouldn’t give him up. He could trust her to keep their conversation confidential — at least for a while. To be sure, he would have to wipe her memory of him. He hated to do it. Vainly, he wanted to be remembered by her. But he had no choice.
Nora’s imminent approach gave him the exit he needed. He smiled at Shanna and whispered, “I enjoyed our conversation more than you’ll ever know.” Reaching across the table, he touched her hand. The moment his fingertips made contact with her skin, he felt a charge of excitement course through him, quickening his pulse. That was all the warning he needed. He knew he had to sever all ties with her and never see her again.
With a subtle wave of his hand, he veiled her eyes, then left the booth and walked out of the restaurant unseen.
* * * * *
“What happened to your lunch date, honey?” a twangy feminine voice asked.
Shanna blinked her eyes and rubbed her forehead as she stared at the vacant booth seat across from her. She remembered someone sitting there, talking to her about something, but now everything seemed foggy, like a dream that faded the moment she awoke. Had she fallen asleep? She checked her watch and realized her lunch time was almost over. A greasy cheeseburger and a side of fries sat on the plate in front of her. Finally she looked up at the woman standing next to her. “Uh, I’m sorry. Could I get this to go?”