Diaper Duty Vampire Page 2

  Most of all, Justin had given his friendship, and for that, John would be eternally grateful.

  When John had finally been able to care for himself, he remembered the other vamp’s penchant for privacy. Though he decided to remain in the area, John had been determined not to burden Justin any further, and repaid his mentor by respectfully keeping his distance.

  “If Stefka says someone is trespassing,” John said firmly. “Then, I guarantee, someone is trespassing.”

  An alert sounded over the speakers causing Leto to whip out his cell phone and punch a button in response. “What?” He demanded and listened intently. After hanging up, he turned to John. “Come on. Sounds like Metta Blautsauger spotted Eztli.”

  “What’s she doing outside the family gates with Osvaldo on the loose?” John fell into a jog next to Leto. He knew that both his Enforcement partner, Rafe Blautsauger and her father, Andris, would have insisted she and Michaela stay safely inside the family compound. Which, when on lockdown, was virtually impenetrable.

  “I’m not sure,” Leto admitted. “Dispatch spouted some shit. Claimed Metta is, somehow, connected to Orcus.”

  The very idea of sweet and ditzy Metta Blautsauger involved with the secretive Vampire spy agency had John humorously snorting. “That’s a good one.”

  ‘I don’t know which way is up anymore.” Leto growled in frustration. As they raced out into the frigid night air, John pointed to where his SUV was parked nearby. Once installed inside the vehicle, the Commander concluded darkly, “All I know is some weird shit’s been going on. I guess we’ll find out. Head to 1304 Minor Road.”

  “Right,” John agreed as he trod down on the gas pedal. “But Metta with Orcus? Give me a break.”

  Arriving at the little house on the outskirts of town, however, proved him wrong. They were just in time to see Mateo Osvaldo sprinting out of the residence with a couple of Orcus agents in pursuit. John slammed the gear-stick into park before jumping out to race after them.

  ****

  A couple of hours later John’s shoulders slumped as his footsteps slowed to a stop. The Orcus agents had already headed back to regroup and reorganize, but he’d continued. He’d been so sure he could find a trail. But he hadn’t. It was as if the bastard had sprouted wings and flown away. Failure added weight to his legs as he trudged back to the house only to find everyone gone.

  At least someone had been kind enough to turn off his engine and to stow his keys under the front seat for him.

  Needing answers, he headed for the Blautsauger estate and parked at the end of a line of cars. Upon entering the house, John found everyone upstairs in Metta’s bedroom, where it was standing room only. He was stuck next to the doorway and had to stretch up and angle his head to get a glimpse of the bed. There he finally spotted Metta. Her body had been wrapped like a mummy, and a dark-haired vamp with a besotted look on his face was supporting her.

  What was with all the bandages? It was, after all, an odd look for a vampire. He didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud until a nearby tween explained it to him.

  “Most of the bones in her hands, legs, and one arm were fractured. Plus she’s got some, like, internal injuries,” the blond youngster said importantly. “They wanted Doc Michaela to tend her, but no one has been able to reach her. Then Ms. Morgan said how she and the Doc had discussed putting new procedures into place. Changing the treatment for injured vamps.” His light eyebrows pinched together as he tried to remember the theory behind it. Then seeming to give up, he gestured expansively. “It’s something about pulling broken bones straight before field dressing. They contend it’ll speed healing.”

  John studied the tween, but couldn’t place him. “And you are?”

  “Kellan Greene with Orcus.” He proudly held out his hand.

  Maybe with Orcus, John thought, but this was no agent. A self-conscious flush spread over the kid’s face, and John feared he’d let his skepticism show. Not wanting to offend Greene, John courteously shook the youngling’s hand. “John Alden, Enforcement.”

  “I’m Luke Quinn’s assistant,” the tween explained, the tips of his ears still pink. “That’s him with Metta.”

  “They’re estimating she’ll be up and walking in a few hours,” someone else commented.

  John turned to see the speaker and grunted in surprise to find the voice belonged to a local minister. How did a human get involved? He wanted clarification, but couldn’t figure out how to ask without being rude. Instead, he inquired, “How did she get busted up?”

  Kellan glanced up at him as they got swept out in a general exodus from the room.

  “Metta’s been working with the preachers saving illegal immigrants from the slave trade. She thought she was rescuing another kidnapped victim and walked into a trap instead. Eztli, I guess she was some assassin for the Toltecs, was waiting for her. She did a pretty good job of trying to kill Met, but Eztli’s the one that ended up dead.”

  Nope. Finding out Metta was truly an Orcus agent didn’t restore his sanity. John shook his head while trying to wrap his mind around the notion. The surprises didn’t end there either. As the group gathered at the base of the stairs, he learned the rest of the story.

  It seemed that by random chance one of the ministers spotted Metta in action, demonstrating vampiric strength and speed. He’d told the rest of his group, and that was why they asked her for help tracking down Servuco, an organization trafficking in illegal immigrants.

  The Lutheran pastor patted his ample waist as he added, “It was that uniqueness.” John loved how the human obliquely referenced her vampiric nature. “Which made her perfect to be our needed muscle for God.”

  Metta, no surprise there, threw caution to the wind and had gone rogue to help them.

  “Don’t you think it’s strange that no one has been able to reach the sister?” Father Henry asked around a hacking cough. The question had John recalling Kellan’s earlier comment.

  “Not really.” Rassey waved a dismissive hand to alleviate concern. “She’s probably up to her armpits in blood slides and lost track of time.

  John smiled at a memory. “During the last tornado—the one that took off part of the clinic roof? All the sirens were screeching and building security crowded everyone into the basement hallway right outside her office door. Mic, however, swore she never heard a thing.

  “Vampires,” he explained for the benefit of the humans, “can count the heartbeat of a mouse hidden inside a wall. Take it from me, when that one is deep in her test tubes and microscopes, our gift is wasted on her.”

  “She’s a piece of work for sure.” Donel let out a rolling laugh as Rassey snorted in agreement.

  “From what I’ve heard, none of her coworkers had the guts to knock on her door. Not even to tell her about a tornado,” Kellan remarked as the group finally began to move out the front door. “She must be a real terror to have everyone scared to death of her.”

  John had heard that too, but still, this was Rafe’s sister. “She’s isn’t that bad.”

  “It’s a shame, in my opinion.” To keep the bitter wind from racing inside, Rassey quickly closed the Blautsauger’s front door behind them. “That she’s so cold.”

  The poor priest shivered and pulled up the collar of his thick woolen coat. Without speaking, Donel and John flanked the old man to shield him from the cutting wind.

  “Michaela might be a real looker,” the big Orcus agent continued after they’d seen the preachers on their way, “but I’d rather be doused with water and left out in this wind before crawling into bed with that one.”

  “Frostbite either way?” Kellan snorted.

  “You got it, kid.” Rassey chuckled. Jokes concerning Dr. Blautsauger’s assumed frigidity was a running theme around Amber Heights.

  “Duty calls.” John comically sighed. “I’m the lucky one that gets to go to her lab and check on her,” he said and walked back to his car as the others laughed and catcalled.

  ****

&nbs
p; Parking next to the back exit of the Turner Stokes building, John spotted yet another human. By reputation Detective Seth Whitehead was one of the good ones, but he certainly wasn’t a welcome sight at that precise moment.

  Hoping to avoid any conversational delays, John started for the door only to hear the cop call out for him to stop. Doing so, he turned and nodded as the human approached him with cautious eyes.

  “Detective,” John said by way of introduction. “John Alden, I’m here to pick up Dr. Blautsauger.” Sticking two fingers into the breast pocket of his shirt, he pulled out a company badge. “Her sister has been gravely injured.” He spoke calmly even as his senses insisted the cop’s presence was a bad omen.

  Seth Whitehead looked up from John’s ID with the Enforcement Securities insignia emblazoned in bold black. There was a small photograph of him in the left corner of the laminated card along with both name and title: John Alden, Enforcement Securities Specialist.

  He was confident his badge would pass muster even with the sharp-eyed Detective.

  “Sorry to hear that, but you’ll have to hold on.” Whitehead’s tone was professionally clipped. Here, John could tell, was a man used to having his orders followed without question. “I’m responding to a silent alarm from the lab.” Then he seemed to unstiffen a little by adding some professional courtesy. “You can come along, but don’t go rushing in. There’s a potential hostage situation.”

  Mouth set in a thin line, John nodded. He’d have accompanied the Detective no matter what the man had said. Together they continued inside and down the metal staircase to the basement level. Where, even from the end of the hallway, they could see the busted lab door.

  The first glimpse inside the once sterile white room sent John’s stomach roiling. The area appeared almost entirely coated in blood. Michaela? Just as the cop had warned, his gut instinct was to rush in, but he held himself back and followed the Detective’s lead.

  In case she was hiding, John called softly, “Michaela? Mic, honey? It’s me, John.”

  At that Whitehead suddenly turned so they faced each other. “You know her pretty well?”

  “Doc? Sure.” Alden shrugged. “I work with her brother, Rafe. So, yeah, I know all the family.” John shot Whitehead a look of his own. It appeared the human had reacted to the term of endearment he’d used. Interesting. He’d wished him luck but doubted the Detective had a chance of melting the icicle queen.

  By silent accord, they went in opposite directions around the main counter as they made their way through the maze of work benches and equipment to the back wall. There they met up in front of the shattered door of the large storage refrigerator. The hefty microscope resting on a cracked floor tile seemed the likely hammer used to send glittering, razor-sharp, slivers of glass everywhere.

  The entire bank of filing cabinets and there were a lot of them, had been dumped—sending reams of paper to mound and drift over the floor like snow banks. That part he could handle. The real punch to the gut had come from the massive blood spill.

  Over the bitter fume of spilled chemicals came the intoxicating scent of blood. Then John sniffed again. The blood smelled…off. Old and degraded. His gaze passed over the extensive amount of damage again, and he wondered who held that much rage against Michaela?

  This malicious destruction wasn’t human-made. No. It was a vampire statement. Luckily, Detective Whitehead remained quiet. If the cop asked too many questions, John would be forced to deal with him, and he’d heard this particular human was hard to mesmerize.

  “Now who’ve you gone and pissed off this time, Michaela?” The cop muttered under his breath, practically repeating John’s earlier thoughts verbatim.

  Squatting, John lightly touched one of the puddles of blood and drew back a red-stained fingertip. It verified what his nose had already told him. “Not fresh. I don’t think this blood came from Michaela. Besides, no matter how—downright annoying she can be—I don’t believe Mic will end up as a blood spot on the floor.” He stood again. “My best guess is that all this blood came from broken specimen tubes and slashed IV bags.”

  For a second, Detective Whitehead’s face contorted in relief. Then he pressed a hand to his lower back and stretched as if working out a kink. “Agreed. For all the signs of a bloodbath, this feels staged.”

  John watched the cop as he walked over to Mic’s desk. He seemed unusually comfortable in Michaela’s space. There was something in how Whitehead ran his thumb over the large crack marring the beautiful wood top that seemed almost contemplative. It suggested the cop was remembering another time he’d stood there.

  “Yeah, I’d go so far as to bet my last dollar no one was injured. Could be a random act of vandalism. Could be work-related.” Seth paused to think. “Might be a competitor. Someone might have trashed the place to destroy her research. Set back her timetable. Or like my first suggestion,” he made the observation flatly. “Michaela might have pissed off the wrong party.”

  John felt his eyelid twitch at the idea. Though he didn’t know the particulars, he’d heard Mic had been in a recent altercation with a gang of tween vampires. Now with Osvaldo and Sabriento on the loose, potential perps were stacking up. Hell, he figured the prickly, cold, and fiercely secretive she-vamp had managed to piss off dozens of humans and vampires alike.

  The cop turned and made a hum of discovery. Head tilted downward he took a step back while staring at the floor. Before John could ask what he was doing, Whitehead fished a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket. Crouching, he hooked a barely visible black, leather strap over one gloved finger, and tugged a female purse out from under the cabinet.

  Setting it on the countertop, he lifted an inquiring brow. “Blautsauger’s?”

  “Can’t say I ever noticed her bag.” John countered. While he’d professionally note the style of a suspect, he’d never bothered to pay attention to that of his friend’s sister.

  Joining Seth at the counter, they took a silent inventory of the contents as the cop dumped them out. Lipstick, a plastic wrapped tampon, a folded wad of clean tissue, and a mannish looking wallet. Before Whitehead could, John pulled a pen out of his breast pocket and used the tip of it to flick the billfold open.

  Behind the protective, clear-plastic slot was a Missouri driver’s license. A youngish looking woman with dark hair and oversized features—big, solemn eyes and an overly generous mouth housed in a sharply-angled, pixie face—stared out from the ID photo.

  John made a small involuntary sound of approval.

  “Know her?” Whitehead asked.

  John peered at the name on the license. “Joann Clarkson. No. I don’t know her…or at least we’ve not met.” Straightening, eyebrows furrowing, he cast his mind back. “Name sounds familiar. I think she might have been Dr. Blautsauger’s assistant a couple of years ago. If I remember right, there was some dust-up about her quitting.” He shrugged and looked at her picture again. “Don’t remember the cause. Why? You think she’s the perp or another victim?”

  “You think that skinny woman is responsible for picking that up or knocking that over?” Whitehead jerked a thumb to an overturned centrifuge and then to where a weighty-looking analyzer was lying drunkenly on its side.

  Distracted by the glowing screen of a knocked over computer monitor, John didn’t bother to answer. Leaning over the workstation, he lifted it with one hand. Automatically bracing his body by curling his free hand under the rounded edge of the Formica counter, his fingers encountered something that felt out of place. When he probed the anomaly with the tips of his fingers, he didn’t believe the small rounded object was either a brad or screw head.

  Setting the monitor aside, he pried the object off with his thumbnail and studied the little button nestled in the middle of his palm. His gaze lifted inquiringly to Seth. Only to find the man regarding him with what seemed to be a hint of guilty resignation.

  “Yours?” John guessed, keeping both tone and expression devoid of emotion.

  “I’
ve been listening in,” the cop admitted with a flash of defiance. “I have reason to believe Dr. Blautsauger has knowledge—but isn’t forthcoming—about a couple of cases I’ve been working. I also believe she has the answers I need to explain my sudden onset of migraines.”

  Seth met John’s eyes frankly. “It hasn’t been there long. Fact is, I’ve only been listening a few hours during which she talked about some sort of plant.”

  “The growing kind or the working in kind?”

  “Vegetation.” Seth smirked. Leaning a hip against one of the counters, he clarified. “She believes it grows in the Mexican jungle and will help with some formula she’s working on.”

  “Shit.” John looked back down at the righted monitor and this time paid attention to the map filling the screen. “She’s headed to Mexico.”

  “On the bright side, I overheard Michaela leaving, and that was before the intruder arrived. Problem is I’m afraid whoever busted in took Clarkson in her place.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I headed home right after Michaela did so I didn’t hear all of it go down.” Seth made an expansive gesture with his hands as if he’d decided to place all his cards on the table. “Based on the fact her purse was left behind, I don’t believe Clarkson was a free agent when she left. On the other hand, I did hear Michaela leave, and her bag isn’t here. Indicating she took it with her and therefore verifying her departure was voluntary.”

  Alden shut his mouth as his question got answered before he could ask. Pacing a few steps, he thought things over and abruptly decided on a few things. “I’m calling Rafe.” Whipping out his cell, he did just that. The moment his friend answered, he depressed the speaker button, and greeted his partner with the good and bad news. “Mic’s not here, bro. Has she made it home?”

  When Michaela’s brother answered in the negative, John betrayed his growing tension by rapping his knuckles on the counter. He’d hoped the cop had been wrong about her destination.

  “Name of Joann Clarkson ring a bell?” John decided to take things one at a time. He and Seth listened while Rafe confirmed his memory about the young assistant taking maternity leave.