Page 66 of Death is Familiar

If the FBI, allegedly, vouching for me prior to my sentence didn’t work, how was I supposed to trust this process? Yes, I was out on the FBI’s good graces, but that was only because I was serving a sentence I didn’t deserve, and because I was seen as useful. And my freedom, however temporary, didn’t come without a leash.

A leash that with my current passenger-carrying status was gnawed through and thread-bare.

“Are we done here?”

“Delilah.”

“I’m asking if there is more to do here, Jack. Are you requiring my presence?”

Eyes normally filled with warmth and mischief, showed a momentary lapse. His pupils wide, chest tight, I knew he was hurt.

My urge to apologize was dimmed by the whirling waves of anger that bracketed against my insides. I needed to maintain my hold, and for that I needed to leave. I could apologize later. After I had time to clear my head.

Todd put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. The firm touch triggering Jack to replace whatever was going on in his mind with his on-the-job demeanor. A forced neutrality.

“You’re free to go, Delilah.” Jack stepped back, though not by much. “Rooms will be ready in an hour.”

“Wonderful.” I slipped past both him and Todd, my body grazing the agents’ firm forms as I left. Without looking back, I brandished my phone over my shoulder. “You know where to find me.”

†

Storming out of a police station, after my disagreement with the agents, was not a good idea. The uniformed police officers I had the displeasure of crossing paths with gave me plenty of disconcerted looks as I exited the building. At this point it was hard to tell whether it was my reputation, my scars, marks, or the fact that I was very obviously in a state of distress, causing all of the attention.

Perhaps it was all of the above.

As soon as the hot July air hit my face, and my sneakers hit pavement, I regretted my actions, but most of all my words. Not only what I said, but how I said them.

The elfish woman’s confession had been a tipping point. I felt the mechanisms of process and procedure grinding into place. The rigid walls of establishment, my prison cell, the world was closing in on all sides. Everything felt temporary, fleeting, which meant nothing was permanent. There was nothing to hold onto.

The agents wouldn’t understand. Not fully. They were a part of the system, and there wasn’t anyone else I could call. I didn’t have Botan or Salma’s numbers in my FBI-given phone, for obvious reasons, and my personal device was off, tucked in some drawer back at my apartment in Alexandria. Mads had all but confirmed my personal phone had been used to track my location, and while it helped explain the attack at the cabins in Monongahela, it didn’t give any insight into who was following me, or how he knew about it.

I took a deep breath. Then another.

“You alright, little lady?” A uniformed officer with a thick moustache approached from the parking lot. His thumbs tucked into his belt loops, like he was trying to act the part.

I surveyed my surroundings to see who the officer was addressing, hoping he was talking to someone, anyone, other than me.

“Yes, you. Dress and sneakers.”

Crap. I hadn’t managed ten seconds to myself before I was interrupted. It must have been a record. “Fine, just needed some air.”

He sized me up and he continued his approach, eyes raking over me from the ground up. “Oh, you’re with that Special Agent and the big fellow.”

I didn’t respond since he seemed so keen on making his own assumptions.

“Which one of them gave you the love bite?” He chuckled to himself. “You know you should—Oh hell, you’re not into that vampire-shit, are you?”

“Into is not how I’d describe it.” I didn’t miss how he sidled closer, despite his disgust at my hickey. But he was awfully chatty, which could come in handy depending on how much I could get him to divulge. “What do you know about the vampires?”

“Besides the fact that there are vamps in this town?” He lowered his sunglasses. “They’ve got a headquarters here. Make big bucks. But they’re troublemakers the lot of them. Deviants. That’s what I know.”

“Troublemakers? What do you mean?”

“It’s all sex and vice. No virtue. But the fact-of-the-matter is people started believing that crap. They think that vamps exist. Like suck-your-blood-in-the-night-and-leave-you-for-dead type of vamps. And that has made things ten times worse. Which is exactly why that love bite of yours should be covered.”

I felt the pulse point in my neck throb under the scrutiny, but like hell was I going to cover it. I had decided I wasn’t going to be ashamed and I wasn’t going to let some police officer whose presence made my skin crawl tell me otherwise.

“Are you saying that the sight of my hickey,” because it was in no way shape or form a love bite, “makes people uncomfortable?”