Dead Spots (Scarlett Bernard #1)(32)

“Why, Scarlett, you’re red,” he teased.

“Just shut up,” I said roughly. “Hold out your arms.”

His mouth tightened, but he held out his wrists, and I carefully put the bolt cutters around the chain, leaning into it to snap the heavy silver. Eli pulled his arms apart, flexing his wrists, rubbing at the welts. “Scarlett,” he said, and he was looking closely at me. He gently took my chin and turned my face toward the parking lot’s lone streetlight. “Who was it?”

I winced, and for the first time since it’d happened, I could feel the bruise where Hugo the vampire had backhanded me in the car. I reached up and touched the opposite eye, which was swollen but still functional. Hugo had pulled that first punch, no doubt. “The big guy. It’s fine.”

His face hardened, and he was very careful as he let go of my face. I saw his fists clench in their handcuffs. “It’s not fine.”

“Yeah, well, I may have a bruise, but I broke the *’s nose. Probably the first time in a hundred years that he’s felt pain, and I got to be there. It’s good enough for me.”

“What did they want with you? How did you get free?”

I told him about Dashiell’s suspicion that I was involved in the La Brea Park murders.

“Didn’t you tell him you were with me?”

I hesitated. “No.”

“God, Scarlett, of all the times to be ashamed of me—”

“It’s not like that! Eli, if I use you as my alibi, Dashiell is going to think you’re lying for me because we’re a couple, and he’ll hurt you to get to me. Or he’s going to assume you and I killed those vampires together. You’re Will’s beta, so Dashiell will have to assume we were acting on Will’s orders, and there could be a war. Either way, dragging the wolves into this puts more people at risk.”

He studied my face for a full minute, until I was starting to itch with the attention. “Maybe not. Maybe he’d just believe us and leave you alone.”

“Yes, and then we’ll all go adopt newborn puppies and play together in a field of marshmallows and glitter.”

He couldn’t help but grin at the imagery, tilting his head to acknowledge my point. Then he looked down at the handcuff bracelets on his wrists, jingling them a little. “So I guess I’m kind of attached to you at the moment. Can you pick a lock?”

I shook my head. “Tried to learn once, but I didn’t have the feel for it. But...I know someone who has a handcuff key.”

He nodded ruefully. “Hey, am I having a great first day or what?”

“Or what,” I said seriously.





Chapter 12


The trip to the airport had taken most of the day. First Jesse’s identity had to be verified by three different groups; then he had to go around meeting with the individual security teams at all seven of LAX’s terminals. And at each new terminal, his identity had to be verified all over again, which must have been a serious pain in the ass for the dispatcher who had to keep taking the calls. As he had expected, no one had seen or knew anything about the three victims. It was all a colossal waste of time, and frustration had itched at the edges of his attention, shortening his patience for each security check.

Jesse hit traffic on the way back to the precinct, of course, and he didn’t arrive until after six. He stopped briefly at his desk to type up a report for Miranda. Yes, I went. No, I didn’t find anything. What a fascinating read, he thought sourly. He sent her the e-mail and packed up to go. This probably wouldn’t go a long ways toward convincing her that he was any good as an investigator, but it couldn’t be helped. Before he left, he called Scarlett’s cell from his desk phone, but she didn’t answer. A little annoyed, he left a message for her to call him back. She was probably napping. He considered just going over there, but he was exhausted himself. If Scarlett got to nap, he should get some sleep, too. Jesse’s apartment was a hole-in-the-wall studio whose chief attraction was its proximity to the precinct. He slept, ate, and watched television there, but never considered it much of a home. Still, the bed was comfortable, and bed was all he could think about just then.

Jesse got his car and headed east on the freeway, thinking about the case with what was left of his fried brain. Scarlett had said that they’d been looking at the wrong victim pool, that it was probably someone from the Old World...But if he was with Scarlett, that person would just go back to being a regular human suspect, right? It was confusing. He suddenly wished he could be going for a run, or taking his parents’ dog to the park, or something. Anything that didn’t involve vampires or werewolves or the glare of flashlights on puddles of blood. Was it really only a day and a half since he’d run into that clearing?

At his apartment, Jesse dropped his gun and badge on the table and kicked off his shoes, collapsing on top of the covers. He put his cell phone on the empty pillow next to his. Despite his eagerness to solve the case, he sort of hoped that Scarlett wouldn’t call him back until he’d gotten a decent amount of sleep.

But only an hour later, he woke up to the screech of the phone beside his head. “Cruz,” he answered, rubbing his eyes. Then he opened them and sat up, fully awake. “You want me to bring what now?”


By 9:30 p.m., traffic had lightened up on the freeway, and Jesse made it from his apartment to Scarlett’s West Hollywood home in excellent time. He parked in the big garage where they’d first met—well, for the second time—and hiked up the ramp and down the block. Consulting the house number written on his hand, he rang the bell of a compact, homey Victorian. The door was opened by a twentyish redhead wearing elaborately stitched jeans, a T-shirt that said Team Edward, and black toenail polish on her bare feet. “Hi! I’m Molly,” she chirped, smiling up at him. “Are you Cruz?”