Midnight Bites (The Morganville Vampires)(100)

He set foot on the cellar’s floor, never taking his eyes from her, and kept relentlessly coming on. “Are you really going to make this so difficult, Chief Moses?”

She pulled her gun and pointed it at his chest. “I believe I am.”

He stopped. Red glowed in his eyes, and she had to suppress that very natural human panic that bloomed inside, that need to fight, to run, to act. She had to act calm if she couldn’t be calm. She had to remain in charge.

Oliver slowly cocked his head to one side, then shifted his attention to Matt Ramson. An expression of revulsion narrowed his eyes and compressed his lips. “A mewling coward,” he said. “With rotting blood. Keep him, and I wish you joy of it. But you, Ramson: Listen closely. If your sister dies, I’ll pay you a visit again. Prison bars won’t protect you. Neither will our brave Chief Moses.”

“Back off,” she ordered, and got that eerie stare again. “Last warning, Oliver. Leave this family alone.” She shook Matt roughly. “Stop crying and revoke his invitation if you want to protect your wife and kids.”

He gulped in enough air to mumble the right words, and Oliver was forced back, as if blown by a wind. He stumbled over the stairs, but went on his own from that point. The look he threw back at her was viciously unfriendly. He hung on to the doorframe long enough to call down, “I’ll be seeing you, Hannah.”

And then the wind caught him again, to buffet him down the hall. She heard the front door open and slam.

“Keep them safe,” Matt said. “Please, keep my family safe.”

“I am,” Hannah said. “I’m just sorry it has to be from you. Upstairs.”

? ? ?

Booking Matt Ramson filled up hours, but she made sure he was safely behind bars, and that her best guys were watching out for any vampire bullshit, just in case. She hated the next part, which would be the toughest, but it was also her job. Serve, protect . . . inform the relatives.

When she arrived at Morganville General, though, she was surprised to see Monica Morrell walking down the hall toward her, clearly leaving Lindsay Ramson’s room. Monica hadn’t even dressed up for the occasion; she was almost plain in a hoodie, jeans, and flat shoes, with her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. No makeup.

“What?” she snapped when she saw Hannah’s eyebrows rising. “It’s a look.”

“It is,” Hannah agreed. “And it looks pretty good on you, Monica.”

“Oh, please.”

“You here to visit Lindsay?”

Monica shrugged just enough to make it clear she didn’t care enough to put effort into her disinterest. “Figured I should. Seeing as I saved her life and all.”

“That was nice of you.”

“Well, you know, I’m not a bitch twenty-four/seven.”

News to me, Hannah thought, but she kept it to herself. “Any change?”

Monica gave her a blank, disbelieving look. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“She woke up half an hour ago and told her parents her stupid brother Matt was the one who hit her in the head. Imagine that? I saved her life, and now I solved your crime. Damn, I’m good!” Monica gave her a wide, superior smile, lifted her chin, and did a runway walk past her and toward the elevators . . . which, of course, opened before she pressed the button. Life just worked that way for Monica. It seemed, sometimes, like God had a terrible sense of humor.

Hannah went to the door of Lindsay Ramson’s room. The girl was sitting up, awake—bleary, but talking. She sounded good. More than good. Her parents were holding her hands, and for a moment, there was a sense of peace in Hannah’s soul.

Lindsay’s father saw her then, and stood up to say, “Chief Moses—”

She nodded. “I know,” she said, and saw the relief ease the tension out of his face. “I’m sorry. I’ve got Matt in custody. We can talk about all that later. For now, I’m just happy you’re doing better, Lindsay.”

Lindsay smiled. She still looked pale, and in pain, but brave. Brave, and strong. “Is it true that Monica saved my life?”

“She called nine-one-one, so I suppose she helped. I’d say the doctors saved your life, and you saved it, too, by hanging on so tight.”

“Bad enough my brother tried to kill me, but now I owe Monica? God hates me.” Lindsay moved her head a little, and winced. She reached for the button by her side, pressed it, and the painkillers did their work. “It’s not Matt’s fault, exactly. He tried to do something good, but he got scared. I shouldn’t have pushed him. Mom, I’m sorry. . . .”

“No,” her mother said firmly, and patted her arm. “No, honey. You don’t be sorry. Matt will be all right. You’ll be all right. It’s a miracle.”

Lindsay smiled and closed her eyes, and drifted off to a drugged sleep. Hannah left them, and on the way out of the hospital, she hesitated, then entered the chapel where she’d originally talked with Matt. It was empty, so she went up front, sat on the pew, and said a prayer of thanks.

“Miracles don’t often happen here,” said a voice next to her, and Hannah controlled the urge to flinch. It was a quiet, calm voice, not warm but oddly reassuring.

“Founder,” Hannah said, and turned to look. Amelie had taken a seat next to her on the pew without a sound or a whisper of disturbed air. She wore a cold white suit, and her hair was done up in its customary crownlike swirl. Beautiful and icy. “To what do I owe the honor?”