Skin Trade (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter #17)

Skin Trade (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter #17) Page 4

Chapter 5

THE PLANE LANDED in Vegas without me having hysterics. Brownie point for me. The really sad thing was that I flew better now if I had someone next to me, so while I was happy for some privacy, I also missed a boyfriend's hand to hold. I couldn't want to run away from them all and miss them, could I? I mean, that made no sense even to me.

St. Louis is hot, but Vegas is hotter. They can say it's a dry heat, but so is an oven. It was so hot that it took my breath away for a second. It was like my body just went, You're joking, right? No, unfortunately, we were not only serious, but we'd be hunting vampires in this heat. Great.

I slipped on sunglasses, as if that would make any difference to the heat, but it did help with the brightness.

The pilot was helping me unload my luggage when I spotted a big man in uniform coming our way. He had a few other uniforms at his back. They kept a respectful distance, and I didn't need to see the nameplate that said Undersheriff to make me guess it was Sheriff Shaw.

Shaw was a big guy, with a hand that swallowed mine when we shook. His eyes were lost to me behind mirrored sunglasses, but then my eyes were lost to him, too. Sunglasses may look cool, but they hide one of the best ways to decipher another person. People can lie with a lot of themselves, but eyes can give a lot away-sometimes not by what they show you but when they go their most hidden. You can judge a lot by what a person wants to hide. Of course, we were all standing in the middle of a desert, so maybe the glasses weren't for hiding anything, just for comfort.

"Fry and Reddick will get your bags," Shaw said. "You can drive ahead with me."

"Sorry, Sheriff, but once a warrant of execution is in effect and the hunt begins, I'm legally bound to keep my kit in sight, or secured by me, or with me watching, in an area out of sight of the general public."

"When did that change?" he asked.

It was Grimes who answered, "About a month ago."

I nodded at the lieutenant. "I'm impressed you know that."

He actually smiled. "We've been going in with our local executioner for a year. It's our job to know if the law has changed."

I nodded again. I didn't say out loud that a lot of police still treated the preternatural branch of the marshal service as a lesser unit, or maybe an embarrassment. I couldn't really blame the attitude; some of us were little better than assassins with badges, but the rest of us did our best.

"What caused the change?" Shaw asked.

I liked that he asked. Most wouldn't. I answered this time. "A vampire hunter in Colorado left his bag of tricks on the backseat of his car, where some teenage joyriders stole it. They probably had no idea what was in it, but they did sell the guns, and one of them was used in a holdup where there was a death."

Shaw looked at the heavy equipment bags. "You can't carry all that on a hunt. Some of those bags must weigh more than you do."

"I'll store them, then take what I need for the hunt. I'll get it down to a backpack and some weapons."

Grimes said, "We can store them at our place. We'll be with you when you serve the warrant, so you can come back and load up with us."

I nodded. "Sounds good."

Grimes gave me that smile again; I still wasn't sure if it was a real smile or his version of cop face. Some give a blank face, some give smiles, but all police have a face you cannot read. I might not even learn which it was on this visit, because the lieutenant would not be going in to help serve the warrant. He'd be back at the command center, commanding.

"Sonny will drive us back, then you can stow your gear." I wasn't sure who Sonny was, but I'd figure it out when someone got behind the wheel.

"I'll need to be taking Marshal Blake for debriefing," Shaw said.

"You want to ride with us, Sheriff?" Grimes asked.

Shaw seemed to think about it for a second or two. He took his hat off and wiped some of the sweat, showing that his haircut was shorter than the SWAT. He had what the marines call a high and tight, nearly shaved on the sides, and not much longer on top, as if he'd never left the service, or at least not its barbers.

"I'll follow you; let's just get out of the heat."

They all nodded, and I just waited for someone to move toward the car we'd be taking. I'd expected more speed when I hit the ground. Everyone was being way too calm, but then, so was I. Whatever we were feeling inside, outside it was all business. There'd be time for emotion later, maybe. Sometimes you keep putting off an emotional reaction until it just becomes moot. It becomes just one more thing that you couldn't afford to let yourself feel.

I picked up one of the big equipment bags and started to reach for another, but Rocco got there first. I let him get it. Hooper reached for the last bag, and I was okay with that, too. It was when Grimes started to reach for the bag I was carrying that we had problems.

"I've got it, Lieutenant, thanks."

We had a moment where he hesitated, and we looked at each other. I finally said, "You can get the luggage if you want."

He gave a little nod and went for the luggage. I learned that Hooper was Sonny, because he was the one who opened the back of an SUV. The back was full of his own equipment. His assault vest was visible, as well as two different helmets. There was a lot of stuff, but no guns were visible.

He answered as if I'd asked, "Gun safe." He moved the pile enough for me to see it.

"Aftermarket add-on?" I asked.

He nodded.

"I'll have to look into that. It would satisfy the new law, as written, and be a heck of a lot more convienient."

"We have to be ready to roll at any time."

"Me, too."

There was enough of his equipment already in there that adding my bags stuffed it full. Grimes joined us with my single suitcase in tow. "The pilot said this is all the luggage."

"It is," I said.

"Three bags, longer than you are tall, full of weapons, but only one suitcase for clothes," Rocco said.

"Yep," I said.

They all sort of nodded as they worked to find room for the suitcase in the back. I'd learned a long time ago that if you packed like a girl, you lost brownie points with the police. The idea was to try to be one of the guys; that meant you did not bring your entire wardrobe on a job. Besides, it was the continental United States; there'd be a mall somewhere if I ran out of clean clothes.

Hooper aka Sonny got in the driver's seat. Grimes rode shotgun. Highest rank usually rode in front, or in back. Depended on the officer. Sergeant Rocco got in beside me. The mound of weapons and bags seemed to sort of press in from behind, as if the potential for destruction could leak out of the bags, or maybe it was nerves? I knew I had grenades in the bags. Yes, Mr. Grenade is your friend until you press, pull, or otherwise activate it, but still, boomy and fiery things were fairly new for me to carry. Part of me didn't exactly trust it; no logic, just nervous. I didn't like explosives.

We pulled out, and Shaw was still standing there in his ring of uniformed officers. He'd been the one to suggest we get out of the heat, but he was still standing in it, watching me from behind his mirrored shades. I realized I'd never seen his eyes, not once. I guess, to be fair, he'd never seen mine.

"He does know we can still see him, right?" I said as we drove past.

"Yes," Grimes said, "why?"

"Because suddenly he looks unhappy."

"We lost men," Grimes said.

I looked at him and found that the pleasant face had slipped a little. Some of the pain that had to be in there showed around the edges. Pain, and that thin edge of anger that we all carry around with us.

"Nothing I can do will bring them back, but I will do everything I can to kill the vampire that did it."

"We're about saving lives, Marshal, not taking them," Grimes said.

I opened my mouth, closed it, and tried to say something that wouldn't upset him more. "I don't save lives, Lieutenant, I take them."

Rocco said, "Don't you believe that killing the vampires saves their future victims?"

I thought about it, then shook my head. "I used to, and it may even be true, but it just feels like I kill people."

"People," he said, "not monsters."

"Once I believed they were monsters."

"And now?" Rocco asked.

I shrugged and looked away. I was seeing a lot of empty land and the beginnings of strip malls. It might have been Vegas, but the landscape was more Anywhere, USA.

"Don't tell me the infamous Anita Blake is going soft?" This from Hooper.

Grimes said, "Hooper," in a voice that clearly meant he was in trouble with the boss.

Hooper didn't apologize. "You've told me my team is her go. I need to know, Lieutenant. We all need to know."

Rocco didn't so much as move or even wince; he went very still, as if he wasn't sure what was about to happen. Just that reaction from him let me know that they didn't question their looie much, if ever. That Hooper did it now showed just how upset they all were about the men they'd lost and the men in the hospital. That moment was Hooper's way of grieving.

I sat beside Rocco and let the weighted silence stretch in the truck. I was going to follow the sergeant's lead.

Grimes finally said, "You don't learn if you can trust someone from asking questions, Sonny."

"I know that, Lieutenant, but it's all we have time for."

I felt tension slide out of Rocco as he sat beside me. I took that as a good sign, and waited.

Grimes looked at me. "We can't ask if you've gone soft, Marshal. That would be rude, and I think you'd answer it the way any of us would: no."

I smiled and shook my head. "I'll kill your vampire for you, Grimes. I'll kill anyone who helps him. I'll kill everyone the warrant lets me kill. I'll get revenge for your men."

"We aren't about vengeance," Grimes said.

"I am," I said.

Grimes looked down at his one big hand where it lay on the seat. He raised brown eyes up to me then, face solemn. "We can't be about vengeance, Marshal Blake. We're the police. We're the good guys. Only the criminals get to do revenge. We uphold the law. Vengeance takes the law away."

I looked at him and saw that he meant it, down to the bottom of his eyes. "That is a brave and wonderful sentiment, Lieutenant, but I've held people I cared about while they died at the hands of these things. I've seen families destroyed." I shook my head. "Vittorio is evil, not because he's a vampire but because he's a serial killer. He takes pleasure in the death and pain of others. He will keep killing until we stop him. The law gives me the legal right to do the stopping. If you don't want it to be about revenge for your men, then that's your concern. He'll be dead no matter whose death I'm avenging."

"And whose death will you be avenging?" Hooper asked.

No one told him to stop this time.

I thought about it, and I had my answer. "Melbourne and Baldwin."

"The two SWAT you lost in St. Louis," Grimes said.

I nodded.

"Were you close to them?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Met them once."

"Why vengeance for two men you met once?" Rocco asked it, and there was the first trickle of energy from him. He'd lowered his psychic shields just a little. Was he an empath, wanting to read how I really felt?

The truck was pulling in, and Hooper was parking. I looked into Rocco's dark eyes, darker than the lieutenant's. Rocco's were so dark, they almost crossed that line from brown to black. It made his pupils hard to find, like the eyes of a vampire when its power begins to fill its eyes, all color of the iris and no pupil.

"What flavor are you?"

"Flavor of what?" he asked.

"You're too tall to play coy, Sergeant."

He smiled. "I'm an empath."

I gave him narrow eyes, studying his face. His pulse had sped, just that tiny bit, some parting of the lips. I licked my bottom lip and said, "You taste like a lie."

"I am an empath." He stated it, very firm.

"And?" I said.

"And what?" he asked.

"An empath and..." I said.

We stared at each other in the backseat, the air growing thicker, heavier, as we peeled our shields down.

"Can we move this inside?" Grimes asked.

"Yes, sir," Rocco said.

"Sure," I said.

"Are you willing to have him read you?"

"Grimes said it, questions won't tell you if I'm for real, but something tells me that the part of Rocco here that's not empath will tell you a hell of a lot more."

"We want to know about the last time you hunted this vampire, Marshal. Are you ready to relive that?"

I didn't even look at Grimes; I just held that dark, steady gaze from my fellow psychic, because I knew something that the lieutenant probably didn't know about his sergeant. Rocco was eager to try me. It was part that male instinct to see who's the bigger dog, but it was more than that. His power was eager, as if it had an edge of hunger to it. I couldn't think of a polite way to ask if his psychic ability fed on the memories he collected. If it did, if he could, then I wasn't the only living vampire in Vegas.

Chapter 6

ROCCO AND I slipped our shields back up the way others would have shrugged their jackets on. We were both professionals; nice.

Grimes told Hooper, "Take us in through the garage. The briefing room should be ready for the meeting."

Hooper pulled out of the parking spot and maneuvered around to a really big garage door. We drove the whole SUV inside, and suddenly I could see why the door was big.

I would say the garage was full of trucks, but the word didn't do them justice. I'd seen the equipment that St. Louis SWAT had, and I was suddenly filled with serious equipment envy.

We all got out. I noticed sort of peripherally that there was a carpeted exercise area to the left, but I mostly looked at the vehicles. I recognized the Lenco B.E.A.R., because St. Louis had one, but the rest were new to me. There were two smaller trucks that looked like the little brothers of the B.E.A.R., and probably were, but the rest of them, I had no idea. I mean, I could guess what they did, but I didn't know the names. They had one of the biggest RVs I'd ever seen. The vehicles alone were intimidating and strangely masculine. I know that most men talk about their favorite cars as if they were beautiful women, but there was nothing feminine about anything sitting in that garage.

"Marshal Blake," Grimes said, with some force to it.

I turned and looked at them, clustered and looking back at me. "Sorry, Lieutenant, but I just had a minute of equipment envy."

He smiled. "If there's time before you leave, we'd be happy to give you a tour."

"I'd appreciate it."

The garage door lowered. "Your weapons are secure in the back of Sonny's truck."

"Agreed," I said.

He motioned. "Briefing room then."

I nodded, and followed them around the edge of the exercise area. I noticed the beige storage lockers with locks against the wall. I was guessing weapons lockers, and eventually we'd lock up my stuff, but frankly, if the bad guys got in here, I was betting on us. The back of Sonny's truck was dandy.

The briefing room was a largish room with long tables and chairs in rows. There was a whiteboard at the front of the room. It was all very classroom. The six men waiting in the room for us didn't look like students, though. No one had called from the truck, so either Rocco was even more psychic than I thought, or they had planned on introducing me to their practitioners from the beginning. I couldn't decide if I felt ambushed or would have done the same thing in their place. Would I have trusted me?

They all had the same short haircuts as the rest, as if they went to the same barber, but I had Shaw's high and tight to compare them to, which meant they all had plenty of hair, it was just short. They were all tall, the shortest maybe five-ten, most six feet or above. They were all broad of shoulder, and the uniform couldn't hide that everyone worked out. But they were SWAT; either they stayed in shape or they lost their spot. The main difference between them all was the color of hair, eyes, and skin tone. Even just standing there, doing nothing, they were very much together, a unit, a team. Did I feel left out? Naw. Did I feel like I was the exhibit for show-and-tell day? A little.

Sergeant Rocco stepped into the room and introduced me. The lieutenant and Hooper stayed by the door, which was now closed. "This is Davis, Davey."

Davey was yellow-blond, with clear blue eyes and a cleft in his chin that helped frame a nice mouth. Should I have not noticed Davey's mouth? Probably.

I offered my hand; he took it and shook it nice and solid. Since his hand was at least twice the size of mine, it was nice that he didn't hesitate on the shake. Some big men have trouble with my small hands, as if they're afraid to break me. Davey seemed confident he wouldn't hurt me. Good.

"This is Mercer, Mercy."

Mercy had medium-brown hair and large, pale eyes that couldn't decide if they were blue or gray. Looking right at me as he shook my hand, they were blue, but it was an uncertain color, as if the light would change it. He had a good handshake, too. Maybe they all practiced.

The next man's hair was almost the same color, but it had more curl that even the short haircut couldn't hide completely. His eyes were a pure, solid milk-chocolate brown. There'd be no color change here.

When he was introduced as Rusterman, I'd have expected his nickname to be Rusty, but it wasn't. "Spider."

I fought the urge to ask, Why Spider, and let Rocco move me down the line. Next up was Sanchez, who matched the name, but still managed to look so much like all the other men that it was like looking at Army Man, now in new Hispanic. It wasn't just that they were all tall and athletic, but there was a sameness to them, as if whoever hired for the unit had a type he liked and stuck to it.

Sanchez's name was Arrio, and I wasn't sure if it was his real first name or another nickname. I didn't ask because, frankly, it didn't matter. They were giving me their names, and I took them.

Sanchez's hand in mine gave a little spark, like a small jolt of electricity as we touched. We both fought not to jump, but the others noticed, or maybe they felt it. I was standing in a room full of trained psychics.

"You spiked her, Arrio; bad practitioner, no cookie," Spider said. The other men gave that masculine chuckle that women, even butch women, can never quite imitate.

"Sorry, Marshal," Sanchez said.

"No harm, no foul," I said.

He smiled and nodded, but he was embarrassed. I realized that the handshake had been a test not just for me but for all of us. Just as the men would test their bodies in weight training, the gun range, drills, this was a test, too. Could you hide what you were, hand to hand with another psychic? I'd met a lot who couldn't have done it.

"You need to work at your contact shielding, Arrio," Rocco said.

"Sorry, Sarge, I will."

Rocco nodded and moved to the next man. He was Theodoros, very Greek sounding and looking, but he was Santa, though Santa never looked like that when I was a little girl. His hair was straight and as black as Sanchez's and my own. He was the proverbial tall, dark, and handsome, if you were into jocks. I wondered how in hell he'd earned the nickname "Santa." It was Spanish for saint, but somehow I didn't think that's what they were going for.

Santa didn't have any trouble shaking my hand and not letting me feel anything but a firm handshake. It would be a point of pride for him and the last man. Sanchez had blown it; they'd work harder because of it.

The last man was also ethnic, but I wasn't entirely sure what flavor. His short hair was curly enough to be African American, but the skin tone and facial features were not quite that. He, too, was tall, dark, and handsome, but in a different way. His eyes couldn't decide if they were dark brown or black. They were somewhere in between my dark brown and Rocco's almost black. But either color, they were framed by strangely short but very, very thick lashes, so that his eyes looked bigger and more delicate than they were, like something edged in black lace.

"Moonus, Moon," Rocco said.

We smiled; we shook. Rocco motioned me to follow him to the front of the room. We stood in front of the whiteboard. "I'm Cannibal." Like Spider, Cannibal made me wonder why that name.

"If we're doing first names and nicknames, then I'm Anita."

"We heard you had a nickname," Cannibal said.

I just looked at him, waited for him to say it.

"The Executioner."

I nodded. "The vampires call me that, yeah."

Davey called out, "You look a little short to be the Executioner."

"Everyone looks short to you, Davis," I said. "What are you, six-four?"

"Six-five," he said.

"Jesus, most of the human population must look short to you, unless you're at work."

They laughed at him, and with me, which was good. The sergeant quieted the laughter with a gesture and said, "We do use nicknames, Marshal; do you want us to use yours?"

I looked at him. "You mean have you guys call me the Executioner, instead of Anita or Blake?"

He nodded.

"No, hell no. First, it's too long for a call sign. Second, it's not a name that I've ever heard spoken in a happy way."

"Are you embarrassed by the name?" he asked.

"No, but it's like Ivan the Terrible. I doubt seriously that anyone ever called him that to his face."

"The vampires call you that to your face," and Cannibal said it like he knew for sure. Maybe he did.

I nodded. "Sometimes they do, but it's mostly Executioner when they're talking to me. They just leave off the the."

"We can call you Executioner," he said.

I sighed. "I'd rather you didn't, Sergeant. I've had too many bad guys call me that while they tried to kill me. They look at the package and call me Executioner to make fun of me. How small, how delicate, how not deadly looking."

"And after they make fun of you?" he asked, voice serious, eyes studying my face.

I met his gaze. "Then they die, Sergeant, or I wouldn't be here."

"I promise never to call you short again," Davey said.

That broke the serious mood, and I was happy to laugh with everyone else.

"Anita, then, if you go out with us."

"Whether you let me go with your team depends on how this little test goes, doesn't it?"

"Yes."

Lieutenant Grimes spoke from the door, and everyone swiveled to give him attention. It was automatic for them. "There are a lot of psychics in the world, Marshal Blake, but there aren't many that are powerful enough to be useful and controlled enough to take into a firefight with you. We need to know how good your control is, and exactly what type of psychic you are. Some types of abilities clash, and if you clash with one of the men in this room, we'll make certain you aren't put on the same team."

"I appreciate all the thought you've put into this, Lieutenant, but I also know that Cannibal here is testing your men at the same time he tests me. He wants to know if they can stay in the room while he tastes my power and not be affected. Yeah, you want to know if my powers clash with your men's, but it's also another test for your own practitioners."

"We lost one of them, Marshal. One of our best. We have precious little time to get you up to speed, and for you to get us up to speed. You hunted this vampire before, and we need to know what you know."

"It's in the reports," I said.

He shook his head. "Cannibal's abilities will tell us whether your reports were accurate."

"You mean, if I lied."

He smiled and shook his head. "Left out things, not lied. You're dating the master of your city, Marshal, living with him; we need to know if that has compromised your loyalties."

"Thanks for the politeness, Lieutenant; the last Vegas cop who asked me accused me of fucking everything that moved."

Grimes made a face of distaste. "None of my men would ever have said that to you, but I apologize to you for the abuse of our city's hospitality."

"Thank you, Lieutenant, I appreciate that."

"Wizard was Cannibal's second-in-command for this squad."

"Wizard was the man you lost," I said.

He nodded. "We need to see how you fit in here, and we have maybe an hour to do it, before we have to deliver you back to Shaw." Not Sheriff Shaw, I noticed; I wondered if he'd figured out who'd insulted me.

Cannibal spoke, turning me back to look at him. "If you were like our own executioner and just used weapons, we'd try to find time to put you on the range, but it's your psychic abilities that will mess us up the most. We can always take your weapons away, but we can't take the rest."

"If I don't pass your test, what then?"

"I won't endanger my men," Grimes said, "if you are the danger, Marshal Blake."

"If I do pass?" I asked.

"Then we'll help you serve your warrant," Grimes said.

"If you don't pass, there are other vampire hunters in town," Cannibal said, "ones that aren't psychic enough to be a problem."

"They also won't be psychic enough to be a help, either," I said.

"We can help ourselves," Cannibal said.

"Can any of you sense the living dead?" I asked.

"None of us has a talent with vampires in particular, no."

I stared into Cannibal's dark eyes as I said, "The dead come in lots of flavors, not just vampires, Cannibal." I took that small step closer to him, not quite invading his personal space. I spoke low. "Just as vampires come in different flavors, too."

Cannibal smiled, and again I got that flash of anticipation from him. "Let's do this, then."

"Let's."

Louder, for the room-his lieutenant and his men-he said, "Are you ready, Anita?"

"How ready do you want me to be?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you want me to try to keep you out, or do you want me to cooperate with your little mind-reading act?"

"I'd love to try to breach your shields sometime, but we don't have time, and the last psychic who played that game with me had to be taken out in an ambulance."

"Are you that good, or that bad?" I asked.

One of the men made a noise, like ooh. We ignored him. "I'm good," Cannibal said, "unless you fight me; then it's bad for you."

"If we had time I'd make you prove that, but we don't, so I'll drop my shields enough to let you in, but I won't drop them completely. Please, don't try to force them all the way down."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because not only can I sense the dead, but sometimes they can sense me. If you breach all my shields, I'll shine like a beacon, and all the vampires in the area will know something supernatural is in town. I'd rather not advertise quite that loudly yet."

"I don't think you're lying about that, which means you're not exaggerating."

"I try not to exaggerate, Sergeant; the truth is strange enough without that."

"I'll be careful of your shields, Anita."

"Okay, how do we do this?"

"Sitting down," he said.

"In case one of us falls down," I said.

"Something like that."

"You really do believe you're the strongest psychic in this room, don't you?" I asked.

"Yes."

I shrugged. "Fine, let's get chairs."

The men handed us up a chair apiece. We sat down facing each other. I lowered my shields a little, like partially opening a door. Not only could I feel Cannibal's energy humming along my skin now, but there were buzzes and flashes and heat from some of the other men. I fought not to concentrate on them, just to ignore it the way I did ghosts. Ignore it and it will go away.

"It works better if I can touch you," he said.

I gave him a look.

He smiled. "So young to be so cynical."

I held out my hands, still frowning. "Fine."

He took my hands in his, and only then did he lower his own shields, only then did he reach out to me with that humming energy of his. Only then did I realize that touch makes all vampire powers worse, more, even if the vampire in question wears a uniform and has a heartbeat.