Page 19 of Isabelle’s Forbidden Love

“I didn’t see Mr. Hong come home that night. But then, I was out running errands, so I probably just missed him. But I know he was home when his wife came.”

Isabelle exchanged a surprised look with Cooper and asked, “You saw Mrs. Hong on Tuesday night?”

Ms. Martinez looked at her. “Yes, well, no, I didn’t see her. But I heard her. They were arguing again. Something about money. And I heard a door slam.”

“What time was that?” Cooper asked.

“Well, I was just getting ready for bed, so maybe around a quarter to ten?”

“And you definitely heard Mr. Hong’s voice? So he was still alive at that time?” Cooper followed up.

“As far as I could tell.”

“Thank you, Ms. Martinez. You’ve helped us a lot.”

They walked toward the next house.

“You think the wife could have something to do with it?” Cooper asked.

“Possibly. She might have motive. Maybe whatever money she gets in the divorce isn’t enough for her. Though I doubt that she actually did the deed herself,” Isabelle guessed, “unless she’s a vampire.”

“One way to find out.”

Isabelle nodded, agreeing. “We’ll look into her when we’re done with the other neighbors.”

12

It wasn’t even midday yet, when Orlando woke from a fitful sleep. He’d been plagued with nightmares that all involved Isabelle getting hurt because of him. He should have never given in to her demands that he sleep with her. Now it was done, and he couldn’t extricate himself from this situation. Now that he knew what it was like to have her, to make love to her—which was a hundred times better than in his fantasies—he couldn’t end it with her. Which left him with only one option: to protect her from whomever was coming after him. And to do that, he had to find out who had sent him the note the day before. Who knew what had happened in Montreal over 40 years ago? Hell, who from back then was still alive and bent on revenge? And revenge it had to be, why else send the note? Or was it an attempt at blackmail? No. A blackmail note would have stated what the blackmailer wanted.

I know about Montreal.

It was as plain a threat as if the person had spelled out exactly how he would kill Orlando.

Knowing he had lots to do before he needed to be back at work at the Mezzanine, he jumped out of bed and walked into the only bathroom in the house. He rented the house from the estate of an old lady who’d passed away around the time he’d come to San Francisco. He didn’t mind much that practically everything in the small two-bedroom house was in need of repair. The bathroom with pink and black tiles stemmed from the fifties. Luckily, the shower was large enough for him to be comfortable. He’d once tried to squeeze himself into the small tub and had felt like he was sitting in a tub meant for a toddler.

On the plus side, the house was backing up to a hill, robbing it of sunlight, and there was a garage with a door leading directly into the house, a rarity in this neighborhood, where many residents had to fight for street parking. It wasn’t easy to park in the garage, because his Hummer was wider than a regular car, but he managed.

Orlando showered quickly, even though he didn’t want to wash Isabelle’s scent off him. But he had to. He couldn’t allow himself to get distracted by reliving their sexual encounter, when he had important things to do. Once dressed, he went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, which only contained bottles of blood. The human blood was bottled by Scanguards, who procured it via a medical supply company and provided it at no charge to Scanguards employees.

He reached for a bottle, then suddenly stopped himself. He wasn’t hungry. Isabelle’s blood was still coursing through him and giving him all the energy he needed. There was no need to feed now. Her blood had tasted rich and sweet, better than any bottled blood ever could. It was a special mix of human and vampire blood, something only few vampires ever got to taste.

He closed the refrigerator and pulled his burner phone out of its hiding place underneath a drawer in the kitchen cabinet. He switched it on and scrolled through the short list of contacts. He found the number he was looking for and pushed the button to connect the call. It was answered almost immediately.

“Hey, long time,” the man he’d once helped out of a jam answered.

“Craig, been a while. I need a favor.”

“Sure,” Craig said without hesitation. “What is it?”

“Not over the phone. When can I meet you?”

“I can take a break in half an hour. Wanna come to the station?”

Yeah, not bloody likely. It would be a cold day in hell when he walked into a police station voluntarily. “No. Meet me around the corner. I’ll be in the old Hendricks pub.”

“Haven’t you heard? City shut them down last month for multiple code violations.”

“That’s why we’re meeting there. And bring your fingerprinting kit.”