Dead Heat (Taz Bell Book 1) Read online

  "There's a local motel called Jordan Suites that should suit your needs," Allen said, that friendly smile back again. "It's only about ten miles away from here, and has a restaurant that's so good even we locals eat there on a regular basis."

  He gave me directions on how to get to the motel, then watched as I walked away. He'd even nodded to George, and I could tell that my partner was amused.

  "He's still watching you, Taz," George murmured as we moved toward the car. "I think you've made a friend."

  "That's good to hear, George," I returned, keeping my voice and expression bland. "A person can never have too many friends."

  "But they can have too few, you wiseass," George grumbled. "If Detective Allen comes calling, promise me you won't just slam the door in his face."

  "Are you telling me I need to have more one-night-stands, George?" I asked, sticking with bland. "Or are you suggesting I settle down here with Detective Allen?"

  "How about giving some man a chance to make you want to settle down?" George countered, his tone more weary than angry. "For the last year we haven't stayed in any one place for longer than a week, and that kind of life wears you down fast. Even without rogue hunting as the highlight of every stay. Aren't you tired of being constantly on the move?"

  I was just about to start an argument with George, but reaching the place where Dayton and Lassiter were waiting saved us both from that.

  "Why are you leavin' so fast?" Dayton demanded as soon as I got close enough, his eyes filled with fear and disappointment. "You're not runnin' out on us, are you?"

  "Right now we're on the way to get a room at a motel," I told him fast to calm that look. "The thing that's doing the killing is a harpy, and we have to locate it before we can go after it."

  "A harpy?" Lassiter echoed while Dayton just stared at me in confusion. "What the hell is a harpy?"

  "Picture a big bird with the head and chest of a woman," George put in. "The feet have long, sharp talons and the mouth has lots of pointy teeth. Have you heard of anyone in the area who has a relatively new exotic pet? They would have gotten it in the last six or eight months."

  "No, not a whisper," Dayton said after exchanging a glance with Lassiter. "But we'll sure as hell ask around to see if anybody else heard about it. Where are you folks figurin' on stayin'?"

  "We'll be at the Jordan Suites," I contributed. "If you learn anything, do not try going after the harpy alone. The last one we tangled with was young as well as slow because it had just fed, and we still lost two men taking it down. You can't spend bounty money if you're dead."

  "Ain't that the Gospel," Dayton muttered, he and his friend both going pale. "Yeah, okay, we'll get in touch if we hear anythin'."

  I wasn't sure I believed him, but saying so wouldn't have been very smart. Fifty thousand dollars was enough to make some people take stupid chances, and if Dayton and Lassiter were that kind it would take more than words to change their minds. If I didn't hear from them by tomorrow I'd call Detective Allen and suggest he keep an eye on the pair. Watching them might not save their lives, but at least we'd find out where the harpy's lair was.

  I couldn't help noticing that the sky was getting even darker, but since it hadn't started to rain yet the window was still down on the car.

  "So?" Freemont said as I slid behind the wheel and George put himself into the back seat as usual, without opening the back door. "Do we know what we're after yet?"

  "It's a harpy," George supplied while I started the car. "But don't try to get any touch of it yet, not until we're out of this area. You don't want to see what it does to its victims."

  "That's for damned sure," Freemont agreed with a small shiver. "Even with my shields closed tight I can almost feel something trying to soak through into my mind. Did some fool bring a harpy egg into this country? I thought everyone knew how lucky we were not to have them here."

  "Fools are fools," George said with a shrug in his voice. "They never stop to think about what they're doing until it's too late, and sometimes not even then. All the rest of us get to do is clean up after them."

  Freemont shook his head with a sigh, the gesture agreeing with what George had said, and then they both lapsed into silence. Personally, I'm partial to silence. It's harder to screw things up when you keep your mouth firmly closed.

  Allen had been right when he said the motel was only about ten minutes away. It was right off the highway so it probably got a lot of transient trade, but it was a big place so it had plenty of room. Freemont and I got our bags from the trunk once I'd parked in the lot, and walking inside brought a small surprise.

  Motels that have any kind of lobby usually try to make themselves look like real hotels, but no matter how hard they try they can't seem to get rid of the air of cheap and temporary rooms. The lobby of Jordan Suites was all dark wood, nice marble, and upholstered furniture on area rugs. The check-in counter had matching marble, and the clerks waiting to help us wore neat suits instead of matching blazers. To the left of the counter in a small side corridor I could see elevator doors, and the floor not covered by rugs was stone.

  Freemont smiled and moved to the counter to get us registered while George and I glanced around in the dimness. The automatic doors we'd come through were smoky rather than clear glass, just as the wide windows on either side of the doors were the same. Bright sunshine would be filtered out and dimmed, but today there wasn't any bright sunshine outside. The threatening rain clouds made the lobby even darker than it would be normally, but it seemed to be a comfortable, cultured dark rather than a dank and frightening one.

  "I think we're going to be comfortable here," Freemont said as he came back from the counter holding two real keys rather than card keys. "They even have twenty-four hour room service, and they're only a little more expensive than places giving a lot less."

  "Let's see what the room looks like before we decide how comfortable we'll be," I said, taking one of the keys before bending for my luggage again. "This lobby may be impressive, but I don't usually spend a whole lot of time in lobbies."

  Freemont granted the point with a small shrug, picked up his own bags, then led the way toward the elevators. The short, fairly wide hall the three elevator doors stood in had an equally wide door at its end, just beyond the last elevator door and to its right. A tasteful sign, black background with silver lettering, said the doorway led to the Moonlight Room.

  "That's their restaurant," Freemont supplied, nodding toward the doorway before pressing an elevator button with his elbow. "I'm getting a good vibe from it, so once we get settled in we can come down and give it a try."

  The doors of the middle elevator opened then, saving me from needing to do more than nod agreement. I'd been thinking about a large, rare steak ever since we'd left the crime scene, and maybe even for a few minutes before we'd left.

  Our room - excuse me, suite - was on the fifth floor, and it really was a suite. A fairly large living room came first, light tan carpeting going from wall to wall with an eating area holding a table and chairs to the right of the door. The couches and upholstered chairs were off-white and looked very comfortable, and straight ahead were two open doorways that seemed to be separate bedrooms. Between the open doorways was a partially closed doorway, probably the bathroom.

  "This is what they consider a double," Freemont said after flipping on the light switch. "It won't hurt to have some privacy for a few days."

  I couldn't really argue the point, so I just closed the door with my shoulder and then headed for the bedroom on the right. Freemont had already taken the one to the left, which was fine with me. The fold-up luggage holder was in the small closet, so I got it out and put the bag holding my clothes on it. The other two bags went on the floor, and I didn't open any of them. Unpacking could be done later, when I was more in the mood to be semi-domestic.

  "Taz, I need to take a bath before we go down to dinner," Freemont said from the doorway, making no effort to come into the room. "I know I haven't done anythin
g to get dirty, but the air around that crime scene made me feel as if I was covered over by some kind of filthy swamp. Do you mind?"

  "It's still too early to go down to dinner," I told him with as good a smile as I could manage. "Go ahead and enjoy your bath, and I'll see how good room service is about bringing up coffee."

  "Make sure they bring two cups," Freemont said with a much better smile. "I'll want some caffeine of my own when I get out of the tub."

  He disappeared then, most likely going back to his bedroom for clothes or a robe. That was my cue to open one of the non-clothing bags and get a book before heading back to the sitting area. Freemont's baths were legendary, especially when he was trying to soak away the atmosphere around a crime scene.

  "I can remember a time when I wished I was some kind of psychic," George said after I hung up from ordering coffee for two from room service. "Ever since I first saw what Freemont goes through, I've been thanking God that I never had to go through the same."

  George was very clearly changing subjects from the last thing we'd talked about, and that meant he knew how close we'd come to arguing. George cared about me and that made him push too hard sometimes, crowding both my temper and my patience. But George and Freemont were now the only people I considered family, so I was really grateful for the change of subject.

  "I still find it hard to believe that Freemont thinks of himself as weak," I answered, turning to smile at George. "If I had his ability I'd probably have cut my throat a long time ago."

  George started to talk about all the things he was glad he never knew about beforehand, sitting himself on a couch while I took one of the chairs. I listened to what he said and made occasional comments, but couldn't help remembering an unpleasant time of my own. After the attack George had been killed in, I'd spent four days in the hospital deeply unconscious. On the fifth day I woke up, and the fact that I was almost completely healed from the very serious wounds I'd had made the doctors and nurses exchange unreadable glances.

  But before I was given the bad news, I was told by one of the nurses about how many visitors I'd had while I was out of it. My mother and father had spent hours sitting by my bedside, and almost every cop in the department had come by at one time or another. Everyone had been very worried about me, everyone had done a lot of praying. But once word went around about what I'd become, there were no more visits from anyone.

  And that included my parents and sisters. No one was there to take me home to my apartment when I was discharged from the hospital, so I had to take myself home. Someone had left clean clothes for me to wear, but none of the hospital staff knew who that someone was. I knew it had to be someone with a key to my apartment, and that meant one of my parents. They'd insisted on having the spare key, just in case. Well, the just in case had come and gone, the spare key had been used, but my very anxious parents were nowhere around.

  A couple of hours after I got home my father showed up at the door. He refused to come in and even refused to look directly at me. He'd come to say that he and my mother felt it would be best if I never "dropped by" again, or even called on the phone. After handing me my key he hurried away, and that was the last I ever saw of any of my family except from a distance. My sisters caught a glimpse of me once in a department store, paled, then hurried off in the opposite direction.

  It's easy enough to say that I don't believe in going where I'm not wanted, but I'd always thought that my family would stand behind me no matter what happened. For two Sundays in a row I actually waited by the phone for the call that would say my parents had regretted their decision and wanted me to come to dinner after all. They were the people who had raised me and had always said they loved me. They couldn't possibly just turn their backs on me and pretend I was dead.

  But that was exactly what they did. I couldn't even tell myself that it was my father's decision that was keeping my mother from coming to hold me around. My mother was the one who made all bottom-line decisions in the family, even if my father did sometimes decide to argue. This time he hadn't argued, probably hadn't even wanted to. I'd become something horrible, something completely unacceptable, and good, ordinary people didn't associate with the horribly unacceptable.

  It finally came to me that George had stopped talking, and when I looked up he wasn't anywhere to be seen. I wiped at the dampness in my eyes with the back of one hand, knowing perfectly well why George had taken off. He hated the pain I felt whenever I thought of my former family, and he always seemed to know when that was. He also knew that I preferred to be alone at those times, but this time we almost missed. There was a knock at the door, and the room service waiter brought in a tray with the coffee, sugar, cream and cups I'd asked for.

  After the waiter was gone I poured my coffee and fixed it, then opened my book and started to read. I expected to have more of a wait for Freemont to get out of the tub, but about twenty minutes later he stuck his head out of his bedroom door to say he was getting dressed. Another fifteen or twenty minutes later he was out and pouring his own cup of coffee, and he'd even brought out his own book. We read and sipped until after six, then went down to the restaurant called the Moonlight Room.

  There was a host or maitre d' rather than a hostess to greet us, after which we were conducted to a table that had a real tablecloth. Soft lamps lit the dimness of the room, and the menus we were given were large and beautifully made. Freemont was seated opposite me rather than to my right or left, an arrangement encouraged by the maitre d' once we reached the table. I didn't particularly care how we sat; our waiter came over immediately to take our order, and that was the important part.

  We had salads and really delicious rolls to occupy us until the food came, but when my steak was put in front of me it was all I could do not to drool. It was exactly the way I wanted it, so I lost no time digging in. Freemont made appreciative sounds about his own meal, and we were thoroughly enjoying ourselves when the enjoyment suddenly came to an end.

  Two someones sat down in the two empty chairs at our table, and when I looked up the two someones had the same face. It was Grail and Jaril, the very people I'd hoped we'd left far behind.

  Chapter Six

  "How can you two possibly be here without my knowing it?" Freemont demanded of the new arrivals, outrage heavy in his voice. "You're not blocking me again, so why didn't I know you were here?"

  "Since we got here first, shielding our presence wasn't hard at all," Jaril answered with faint amusement. "This is the best motel in the area, after all, so it was only to be expected that you'd be here as well."

  It looked like Jaril was on my right and Grail to the left, what was becoming a usual arrangement for them. After the first shock of their arrival I went back to my steak, paying attention to nothing but the food. I'd told Freemont on the way here that if these people showed up again I meant to ignore them. If ignoring didn't work, we'd have to see where we went from there.

  "Gentlemen, would you like menus?" I heard the waiter say. He'd noticed the newcomers and had shown up right away.

  "No, no menus," Grail answered, what sounded like warm friendliness in his voice. "I'll have a Cherry Whippe, and my brother will have coffee."

  The waiter didn't even blink when he assured the men he'd be right back with their order, but why should he show any kind of reaction? He now knew that one of the people at the table was a vampire, but so what? Vampires had been part of human society for so long that everyone but bigots took them in stride.

  Most hotels and motels had special accommodations for vampires who traveled, and most businesses that were open all night had vampires working the graveyard shift. That was why it was called the graveyard shift, wasn't it? If the hotel or motel had enough vampire trade, they also provided the new kind of sustenance that had been developed in the last ten or fifteen years, one of which was called a Whippe.

  I know nothing about blood and nothing technical about cooking, so I have no idea how they managed to fluff up blood almost to the consistency o
f mousse without ruining it. They'd also managed to add a hint of flavor to the Whippe that a vampire could taste, either cherry, or banana, or peach or some other fruit. The Whippe was eaten with a spoon instead of just swallowed, and an article I read some time back said that vampires all over the world were dancing in delight over having something they could "eat" and enjoy.

  Vampires were people, after all, so why not cater to them? No decent vampire would use his or her power on the humans he or she came across in everyday life, so why worry that they still had those powers? They were people, for pity sake, not something disgusting like those who changed into animals…

  "Taz, we need to talk about something important," Jaril said softly as he leaned both forearms on the table. "We'll get to it as soon as the waiter brings our order and leaves again."

  The baked potato that had come with my steak was really good, done just right and even tastier when mashed into the blood from the steak. The cut corn was almost as good, especially drowned in butter. More rolls had been brought with the main dishes, and even though they crumbled when you tried to spread butter on them they were still worth the effort.

  "You can't just ignore us, Sweetling," Grail said, his voice as warm and smooth as it had been with the waiter. "You have to deal with us, and using calm reason is the best way to do that."

  Taking another bite of steak and looking vaguely in Freemont's direction gave Grail my answer to his comment. The smell of blood I'd noticed on him and his brother the last time seemed to be just about gone, so faint that I could barely detect it. How considerate of them to have found a way to mask the smell.

  "Of course she'll deal with us reasonably," Jaril put in, just as if I'd spoken. "She may not want to admit it, but she knows deep down that we mean her no harm."

  Showing my opinion of that comment with a Bronx cheer would have felt good, but it would also have ruined the ignoring I was doing. I needed something else to think about while doing all that ignoring, and it wasn't long before I found the perfect topic. It annoyed the hell out of me that I couldn't tell the twins apart until they spoke, and then only by what they were saying. Since they both smelled alike now, showing that Jaril had probably put on some of that makeup Grail wore, I needed to find the one small difference that would let me know one from the other.