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And that was unacceptable.
He had to see her. Had to assess how much of a risk she was. And he had to explain as much as he could.
It wouldn’t matter, though. She’d see only a monster who killed. A beast who’d toyed with her heart.
A vampire.
She’d look at him now, and she’d see her father, dead on the sidewalk.
Her wounds went deep. He hoped her passion did as well.
His plan would likely kill whatever small thing might have begun to grow between them—he knew that, and regret cut him like a knife—but at least he would see her again. Would touch her again. Would see the soft part of her lips as she came and feel the slick brush of her damp skin against his own.
He would use her, but the pleasure he gave her would be real. For Sara, he knew, that would make the betrayal all the worse. That, however, was a reality from which Luke couldn’t escape. He had to be free, and he couldn’t compromise Tasha’s safety because of the whims of his heart.
“I’ll make her an asset,” he said, hating himself as he spoke the words. He looked up at Nick. “I need you to get me on the street.” He needed to see her, needed to put these wheels in motion.
“Do you really think now is the best time? Her first day? They’ll be wiring her house with security, placing safety spells and borders. They’ll issue her a panic button. You show up, she pushes that button, and the gig is over.”
“I have no intention of seeing her tonight,” he said, only slightly regretting the lie. He wasn’t going to tell Nick about his night with Sara. That much, at least, would remain pure. But without that bit of information, Nick couldn’t understand why Luke wanted to go to Sara now. Why, in fact, he believed that she would see him—or why Luke still held on to the tiny sliver of hope that she wouldn’t bring the wrath of Division 6 down upon him.
“So, what? You’re just interested in taking a stroll around town? See the sights? Catch a movie?”
“Actually, I’m interested in having a little chat with Ural Hasik.”
Nick nodded thoughtfully. “Fair enough. Though Hasik might not be in a conversational mood.”
“I’m sure we can find something to chat about.”
Nick stood. “I’ll arrange for a furlough.”
“Try Judge Acquila,” Luke said. “Remind him of Prague, 1874. That tussle between him and a British diplomat regarding said diplomat’s daughter.”
“Kind of you to have helped him sort it out,” Nick said. He aimed a hard look at Luke. “Hear me well, though. I’ll get him to authorize an advocate-escorted furlough for the purpose of reviewing the crime scene with my client. Three hours. And then we walk back into this detention block and they close the cage on you. We’ll get you the hell out of here, but you are not escaping on my watch. I want your word.”
“You have it.”
“I like my privacy, and I’ll not have the PEC looking into both of us.”
“I’ll be outside, Nick, but I won’t be free. You know the drill. Escape would be next to impossible. Wasn’t it Ferdinand Cristo who broke furlough last summer? His death was not a pretty thing.”
“Your promise, Luke,” Nick repeated.
“I swear on our friendship and our bond as kyne that I will return to this cell.” But before he did, he would have his time with Sara. And though his purpose was dark, his heart still leapt at the thought of touching her again.
ChapterThirteen
Sara followed Leviathan into the detention center antechamber, the case file and a profile of Luke held tight in her hand. She’d skimmed the latter in the elevator. The photo—defying the myth that vampires couldn’t be captured on film—along with his vital statistics. Height, six foot five. Weight, 220.
Both stats jibed with what she knew of the man. The next statistic, however, had her mouth going suddenly dry: born in Italy in the year 122. Apparently she’d been a few millennia off when she’d guessed that the man she’d invited into her apartment was five years her senior.
And now here she was, about to see him again. Hopefully, she was ready. Hopefully, Leviathan couldn’t simply look at her and know that she’d slept with him.
Oh, god. She’d slept with a vampire. A murderer.
She knew he was guilty. She’d seen the evidence, and it was a hell of a lot more compelling than the kind of evidence she usually saw upstairs. But somehow, she still couldn’t believe it was true.
Because you’re acting like a lovestruck kid. Act like a prosecutor.
