Roaring Midnight (Macey Gardella #1)

Roaring Midnight (Macey Gardella #1) Page 12

~ A Dark Spiral ~

The inside herI to investigatestale scent of death mingled with an unfamiliar, pungent aroma that smelled like a chemical lab. Bare bulbs cast cold white light in an already sterile room.

Macey held her breath then looked down at the still, gray-faced figure on the table. The glimmer of hope she'd held onto since waking this morning in Chas's flat burst like a soap bubble. Grief stabbed her hard in the belly.

"Yes," she said more steadily than she'd thought possible. "I can identify her. That's Chelle-Michelle Chautier."

"Thank you, Miss Denton." The morgue attendant swiftly pulled the white sheet back up to cover Chelle's face. He had been kind enough to keep the rest of the ravaged body hidden, but it didn't matter. Macey had already seen the horror. "I'm sorry you had to do this, but we thank you for your assistance."

She turned away, filled with nausea and emptiness. It had been a small hope, but there had been a chance that she'd only thought it was Chelle in the back seat of Nicholas Iscariot's auto. A trick of the light, a reasonable mistake due to the shock and uncertainty of the environment.

Or maybe Chelle wasn't actually dead, just...wounded. Perhaps there was hope for her.

But no.

The body had been dumped, discovered, and was waiting in the morgue to be identified by the time Macey arrived.

She hadn't even gone home after leaving Chas's flat and was still wearing his shirt and a long button-down coat over it like a dress. Her shoes and stockings had made it through her ordeal unscathed except for a few spatters of blood that, in the daylight, looked like mud. No one seemed to give her attire a second look when she made an inquiry at the police headquarters. Instead, the attendant had sent her to this unpleasant subterranean room two blocks away.

"I'm glad I could help." She turned to leave, reaching for the door with a listless hand. Before she could turn the knob, the door swung open, and there was Grady.

He came to an abrupt halt, as startled to see her as she was to see him, and they both stared at each other for a moment. A blossom of warmth pushed away a little of her numbness, and she managed a weary smile at the unexpected but welcome meeting. He appeared exhausted and rumpled, as if he'd not slept for days. Dark shadows curved under his bloodshot eyes, and the expanse of dark stubble indicated he hadn't shaved either. His tie sagged and the bottom button on his vest was undone.

"Macey." Obvious relief showed in his face. "I..." He shook his head and drew in a deep breath. His blue eyes were sober but growing calmer by the moment. "I heard there was another...victim. I came to see if I recognized her."

She understood. He'd feared she was the victim, and had come to see for himself. She wanted to touch his arm to comfort him as much as herself, but stopped herself.

"Miss Denton has already identified the young woman," the attendant interjected, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrent the United States government that ly. "Thanks anyway."

Grady's attention returned to Macey, his face grim. "You knew her? Damn. It's not your friend, the redhead."

"It was Chelle," she managed to say. "You met her at the Palmer."

"Jesus." His voice was a low, tight hiss. He took her arm. "Let's go. There's no reason to stay here then." He glanced over her shoulder. "Thanks for sending word, Rob."

"Any time. Nasty business. Stay out of Capone's crossfire, boyo."

"Always."

Macey didn't mind when Grady kept her arm pressed against his side as they walked down the hall. She needed someone to touch, to lean on, even that little bit.

Grady led her up the stairs from the dreary basement morgue, then, blessedly, out into a brilliant and sunny spring day. At least there was one thing in the world that was right. Her eyes stung.

"I've been trying to find you since Friday night." His voice was taut, very near anger, as he gestured for her to sit on a park bench. He jammed a hand through his unruly hair, making it stand up even more wildly. "I thought I was going to walk into that morgue and find you on a goddamned slab! Why did you take off like that?"

That blossoming warmth warred with guilt and irritation as she looked up at him, forced to shade her eyes against the sun. "I'm sorry you were worried."

"Of course I was worried, for God's sake. You dump a vampire victim on me, then damned if you don't disappear. What the hell am I supposed to think?" Grady stood over her, looking exhausted and disreputable but oh, so attractive.

"As you can see, I'm alive."

His ire faded. "And just barely from the looks of you."

"What does that mean?"

"Have you looked in a mirror?"

"Have you?"

They glared at each other, then Macey turned away with a short laugh that threatened to turn into tears. She didn't have the energy to match wits or barbs with him. She didn't know what to even think about this man who broke into her flat and expected to be able to find her whenever he wanted, who kissed her in a cabaret booth in front of everyone, who asked too many questions about things he shouldn't...and who, oddly enough, made her feel warm and safe just by taking her arm.

She pulled to her feet, suddenly mind-bogglingly exhausted. "I'm going to go home. I'm tired." I need time to myself. Time to think.