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ChapterOne
The vampire stood in the shadow of a massive oak, watching as the human hurried down the sidewalk, passing lawns littered with tricycles, wagons, and other hallmarks of a happy suburban life.
Frank Constantine. An academic. A diplomat.
A fool.
A man who had opened the door to a world he thought he understood, but never truly had. Now, he never would. Because in less than five minutes, the human would be dead.
Electric streetlights provided spotty illumination to the sidewalks of this Silver Lake neighborhood, and a low growl escaped the vampire’s throat as Constantine moved closer, stepping in and out of the shadows as he swung a shopping bag and sang to himself, the sound so soft that no human could have heard it from this distance.
The vampire could hear just fine.
“Happy birthday to Sara. You’re my sweet little dear-a.”
As the dead man sang, the vampire changed location with preternatural speed.
“Now you’re eight and I’m late. Happy—”
Constantine stopped in a circle of light, his forehead furrowed, his breathing irregular. The vampire caught the enticing scent of adrenaline. He growled, hating what he had to do even as he craved Constantine’s fear-laden blood.
“Who’s there?”
The vampire remained perfectly still, well-hidden in the shadows.
Constantine released a nervous laugh, then lifted his shopping bag. “Nerves,” he told a pink teddy bear. “Occupational hazard.” He cleared his throat, then began walking again. “But Sara is going to love—”
He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he spun around, his eyes going wide as the vampire swooped in and drained every last drop of blood from the human’s body.
ChapterTwo
Twenty Years Later
Back straight,Sara told herself.Eyes forward. Don’t fidget.
It was one thing to stand in front of a judge or jury. To cross-examine a defendant or parse out a story from a nervous, confused victim. Opening statements and closing arguments were her métier, and responding to opposing counsel’s objections was a hell of a lot more fun than a night out drinking with her friends.
As for putting away a vile, fucked up serial child-killer like Xavier Stemmons? Well, that was even better than sex.
But this? Standing on the steps of the courthouse as she faced reporters and onlookers? This was pure hell, even when all those staring eyes were full of congratulations and relief.
Beside her, Andrew Porter easily fielded the barrage of questions from the gathered press. Los Angeles County’s polished and popular District Attorney, Porter was a brilliant lawyer who seemed built for the public eye. He’d given Sara, an Assistant District Attorney, the Stemmons case and all of the press and public appearances that went along with prosecuting the Baby Doll Killer. By all rights, she should be standing up here alone, and she was grateful to Porter for standing beside her now.
“—verdict remarkably fast,” a tall, thin reporter shouted. “Did that surprise you?”
“Not at all,” Porter said smoothly as thunder rumbled across the cloudy sky. “Ms. Constantine presented an airtight case. She’s a credit to this office.”
“This was your first time as the lead attorney in a capital murder, not to mention such a high profile case.” The familiar voice rang out as reporter Andrea Tarrant maneuvered through the crowd until she was directly in front of Sara, sunglasses balancing on her head amid short, choppy hair. “Were you concerned about your lack of experience?”
Sara met her friend’s eyes, grateful to Andy for tossing her the kind of softball question that could segue into a tidy wrap-up of the press conference. “Not at all,” she said, glancing at Porter as the first fat raindrops began to fall. “I was trained by the best, and the evidence spoke for itself. My only concern was presenting the strongest case possible so that this office could get a conviction and justice for all those little girls.”
More reporters’ hands shot up as others shouted questions on top of each other. “That’s it for now,” Porter said smoothly as reporters called Sara’s name, and she blinked against the sudden onslaught of camera flashes.
“I meant every word,” Porter told her once they were safely back inside the courthouse. “You did this office proud.”
“Thank you,” she said, meaning it. Porter didn’t give out unearned praise.
“Now get out of here. No cleaning up your office. No digging into your other files. Go celebrate with your friends, Constantine. You deserve it.”
