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  Eckhoff made an impatient gesture. “Yeah, okay. Let's get this done before someone shows up."

  "Certainly.” Hartzler walked over to a bank of gleaming stainless steel doors, placing his hand on one of the handles before he looked over his shoulder to ask, “You'll want to see all five? In order of death?"

  Cyn nodded. It didn't escape her notice that the tech knew exactly which drawer to go to without checking the file or even glancing at the tag on the door itself.

  Hartzler gave a satisfied smile, then pulled the door open with a dull thunk of releasing seals. Stepping into the opening, he slid the body out, glanced up at Cyn, as if to make sure she was paying attention, then pulled the pale green sheet back with a flourish. “Patti Hammel,” he said. “Age twenty-two; cause of death, blunt force trauma to the skull."

  Cyn frowned. “Blunt force?” She looked at Eckhoff.

  "Exsanguination was post mortem."

  Cyn's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “Post mortem? But that's almost impossible. He would have had to drain her within what?” She looked at Hartzler. “Ten minutes, maybe?"

  He dipped his head slowly, like a small bow of respect, or maybe pleasure that she'd asked him the question. “The heart stops, the body dies and blood begins to clot within five minutes,” he confirmed. “Exsanguination would almost certainly be impossible after fifteen."

  Cyn gestured at the body. “May I?” she asked politely.

  Hartzler gave her another toothless smile and a nod, before stepping back and making room for Cyn next to the pallid corpse. Hammel's skin, which had probably been pale in life, was all but translucent in death, already dry and paper delicate, collapsing onto the bones beneath. Death was death. Refrigeration could only do so much.

  The morgue tech offered a pair of exam gloves which Cyn drew on quickly before tilting the dead girl's head to better expose her neck. Two small, round wounds were visible to the left center of the throat surrounded by a considerable amount of bruising. Cyn wasn't a medical expert of any kind, but even she could see that the attacker had exerted far more force than should have been necessary, which argued against it being a vampire. Dark, bruised fingerprints suggested Hammel had been held in place while the carotid was punctured. Cyn frowned. Something else about those wounds bothered her, but she couldn't quite figure out what it was. She filed it away for later consideration and glanced up to find Hartzler's pale eyes watching her avidly. She straightened and glanced at Eckhoff. “Can I see the file, the autopsy photos?"

  Dean regarded her silently, and then nodded in Hartzler's direction. Cyn heard the tech's shuffling feet, and a folder appeared in front of her. She opened it quickly, skimming through vivid color photographs of the many traumas visited upon poor Patti Hammel. It took little imagination to conjure the brutality of her final, terror-filled moments of life.

  Cyn closed the folder and said quietly. “Can I see the others now, please?"

  Hartzler seemed surprised, but he responded with alacrity, covering Patti Hammel's body and sliding it back into the anonymity of the coroner's refrigerator. Again without referring to notes, he went directly to another door and pulled it open, repeating his actions of only moments earlier.

  "Jane Doe number one,” he said, with the air of a game show host.

  "No ID?” Cyn asked Eckhoff abruptly.

  He shrugged. “These are street kids mostly."

  "Luci said she offered to help, but no one called her."

  Eckhoff flipped through the new file. “This one carried no identification and no one on the scene admitted knowing her. Fingerprints came back negative.” He picked up Hammel's folder again, a frown creasing his brow. “Hammel wasn't on the street. She was one of those traveling notaries, subcontracted to a bunch of different companies. That put her fingerprints on file for the ID. No next of kin, no one she worked with knew her socially. Most of her repeat contact was by phone. She kept to herself, rented an apartment in Culver City. Her landlord thought she was dating someone, said she was gone overnight a lot."

  Cyn looked up. “Boyfriend? Did he report her missing?"

  "Nope."

  "Curious.” She looked down at the body of Jane Doe number one. “This girl's a lot younger than Hammel."

  "The ME estimates sixteen years old, maybe younger,” Hartzler confirmed. “She was a heavy drug user.” He slid a hand down her arm, almost in a caress, turning her elbow out to reveal a rash of needle tracks.

  Cyn didn't comment but went directly to the girl's neck, finding two neat puncture wounds that matched Hammel's almost exactly. “Same MO on this one?"

  "Not exactly,” Eckhoff responded. “No blunt trauma. We figure the assailant learned from the first attack and did it cleaner this time. Death was exsanguination, pure and simple. Plus, this one was on a high, no need to subdue her before the attack."

  "Uh, huh. Next."

  They went down the list, one after the other, five young women including two Jane Does, beginning with Patti Hammel and ending with the girl Luci had known from the shelter, listed only as Carlene Doe. Hammel was the oldest, the only one who'd been struck first and the only one not living on the street. The others followed the same pattern as Jane Doe number one; they were all under the influence, either drugs or alcohol, and bled out through the neck. Cyn pulled the sheet over Carlene's face and nodded an okay for Hartzler to return the body.

  He did so with smooth, practiced movements, closing the unit door with a reverential flourish, before fixing those pale eyes of his on her expectantly. Cyn avoided his stare uncomfortably, busying herself with making notes on a small spiral pad she'd rummaged out of her backpack, wanting to remember as much information as she could from her brief scan of the files.

  She finished writing and was shoving the tablet back into her backpack when Eckhoff's phone went off. It was a discordant jangle in the otherwise silent morgue and she jumped slightly. Eckhoff gave her a skeptical look and then stepped into the hallway, his voice drifting back through the closed doors. Cyn shuffled uncertainly, unhappy that courtesy left her stuck in the morgue until Eckhoff finished his call.

  "I know who you are.” Hartzler's thin voice was fevered with emotion.

  Cyn spun around, taking an automatic step back when she realized how close he'd come to her. “What?"

  "I know who you are,” he repeated, staring. “You're the investigator. The one they trust."

  She didn't have to ask who they were. “I'm sorry, Mr. Hartzler—"

  "It's okay. You can rely on me to be discreet.” He shifted his glance meaningfully in Eckhoff's direction. “Are you working for them on this? Is there anything I can do to help?"

  "Uh, thanks, but no. I'm not really—"

  "Of course, of course. I understand. It's difficult for them, I'm sure. One of their own.” He slipped a folded piece of paper into her pocket. “If—” His mouth snapped shut as the doors whooshed open, announcing Eckhoff's return.

  "We about done here, Cyn?” Eckhoff asked.

  "Yeah.” She grabbed her backpack and pushed through the doors, hurrying down the hall to the stairs without bothering to see if Eckhoff followed. He caught up with her before the door closed, his long, skinny legs taking the stairs two at a time. He gave her a questioning glance, but didn't say anything until they were standing out on the street next to the driver's door of her SUV.

  "What was that about?"

  "Your buddy in there is a vampire groupie. They dress up in black, stick fake teeth in their mouths and jerk each other off with fantasies of becoming the real thing. This is his dream job; he's probably the envy of all his little friends.” She threw her backpack across the front seat and rubbed her arms vigorously, feeling tainted somehow. “He offered to help me out in my investigation for them, anything he could do. He's a nut job."

  Eckhoff glanced back at the building. “Maybe. But he's my nut job, and he's reliable. I've used him as a resource for years. He knows this stuff as well as the docs, and he's a lot more willing to talk a
bout it."

  "Yeah? Well, maybe you should be looking at your resource a little closer, because it wasn't any vampire that killed those girls."

  "How do you know?"

  Cyn inhaled sharply, frustrated with her own shortcomings. “There's something wrong about it. I can't quite ... How much do you know about this case? Why would the ME specify a vampire attack? I mean, have we ever even had one of those before?"

  He glared at her in disbelief. “You mean, except for Carballo? You remember her, don't you? The cop we found drained on the roadside?"

  "Yeah, I remember her, Dean. But since it was supposed to be me lying in the dirt while Benita was busy spilling the department's secrets to her vampire boyfriend, I can't feel too bad about it, you know?"

  He looked away, his jaw clenched so tightly she could see white bone jutting against the skin.

  "Dean?"

  He kept his gaze on the distant traffic. “The investigating officer suggested on the scene that it was a vamp bite. Everyone downtown is seeing vampires in the woodwork since Carballo died, and we've got this nice new facility all ready and waiting to be used.” He hooked a thumb back over his shoulder. “The bodies were brought directly here and autopsied to confirm the COD, probably on the fly. They ordered the usual—tox screen, some tissue samples from around the wounds, but it's low priority, so no results yet. It's not like they don't have enough to do downtown. Hartzler was supposed to take care of everything else."

  "Great,” Cyn muttered under her breath.

  "I told you this isn't my case. I had nothing to do with this clusterfuck, and I don't know much more than you do."

  "Who's the witness?"

  "What witness?"

  "Don't be coy, Eckhoff. You guys are claiming to have a witness who ID'd Raphael."

  "Hey, you're the one who said they needed to talk to him—"

  "Not as a suspect! It's bad enough you guys think a vampire is doing this, but Raphael? You're out of your mind. The guy's alibied tighter than the fucking president; he's never alone!"

  "Alibis can be faked, Cyn."

  She laughed. “Dean, if Raphael wanted someone dead, you'd never find the body. Do you honestly believe a vampire lord is leaving dead girls on the street? Do you have any idea how much power he has?"

  "No, I don't! None of us do and that's the problem. We've got a dead undercover cop who no one denies was killed by a vamp, and now we've got dead teenagers littering the streets. How do we know it's not the same guy?"

  Cyn stared at him, debating how much to say. “I've told you what happened with Benita. She was dirty. She trusted the crooks more than the cops and it got her dead. As for the vamp that killed her ... you don't need to worry about him anymore."

  Eckhoff gave her a hard look. “And you know that how?"

  "Like I said before, if Raphael wants someone dead, you'll never find the body."

  "Great. That's fucking great, Cyn."

  "What do you care? A vamp killed her, and that vamp paid the price. One less vamp is a point for the good guys, right?"

  The look he gave her was disappointed, almost hurt, and she blushed. “Sorry, Dean, it's been a long few days with little sleep. But you know I'm right about some of the others."

  He frowned and drew a deep breath through his nose. “This case stinks."

  "Yeah, it does. Who's your witness?"

  "I can't tell you, Cyn. You know that."

  Cyn thought about arguing, but he was right. “Hammel doesn't fit, you know,” she said instead.

  "We think she was an accident, that the guy got a taste for the vein after her and started looking for easier prey."

  "If a vampire in L.A. wants blood from the vein, he doesn't need to kill for it. People line up to volunteer. Hell, your friend Hartzler in there would probably give his left nut for the chance, him and all his buddies. You know about the blood houses. What do you think goes on there?"

  "Maybe this one likes the hunt."

  She shook her head. “It doesn't work that way. One murder and Raphael's enforcers would be on him like white on rice. He wouldn't last twenty-four hours. These guys don't play games, Eckhoff, and they don't give second chances."

  He sighed. “This isn't my case,” he said again, and she detected an obvious note of relief beneath his words. “I can have a conversation, but that's about it."

  "I know.” She checked her watch. “Listen, I've really have to run. I've got one more stop to make before going home, and then I'm going to sleep for about ten hours in my own bed.” She rubbed her face tiredly. “And then I've got to get back to my real job, which is finding a teenage runaway before she becomes the next victim."

  "This related to the Texas business?"

  "Yeah, I'm pretty sure she ran to L.A. I've got Luci on the lookout, and I gave my number to someone who might still be in contact, but...” She shrugged. “You know how that goes."

  "Needle in a haystack."

  "Something like that. Okay.” She slid into the front seat.

  Eckhoff rested one hand on top of the open door and leaned in. “You take care, grasshopper. Whoever's behind these killings wants us to think it's vamps, and he might not take kindly to someone calling his bluff."

  "What else is new? No, no.” She waved away his objection before he could voice it. “I'll be careful. Now let me go home."

  He stood back, letting the door close before slapping the top of her truck and heading down the street toward his own American sedan. Cyn did a quick three point turn and waved through her open window as she drove past. She had to get back to Lucia's, pick up Mirabelle and get the girl settled into the condo before sunrise. Assuming no other vampires decided to make an unscheduled appearance.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Cyn was dead tired by the time she pulled into the garage beneath her Malibu condo. Next to her in the front seat, Mirabelle was fidgeting with nerves, worried about her first sunrise away from the safety of the only home she'd ever known—even if that home had been turned into a prison by Jabril Karim. Cyn tried to reassure her, saying she'd stay with her through the day, that the windows were all covered with blackout shades in deference to Cyn's own night owl habits, but the girl remained terrified. Cyn really couldn't blame her, but she was so exhausted herself that it was an effort to deal with a twitchy Mirabelle.

  She unlocked the heavy door from the garage to the condo and held it open for the girl, waving her in the direction of the stairs. “Go on up,” she said. “I'll be there in a sec."

  Mirabelle gave the stairs an uncertain glance before heading up, while Cyn pushed the door securely shut and turned to disarm the security panel. She frowned, seeing the row of green lights indicating the system had already been disarmed. Cyn rarely forgot to arm her security, and never when she was traveling out of...

  She looked up at the sound of a loud thud from upstairs, like someone had dropped a suitcase ... or a body.

  Cyn stood perfectly still, listening ... and heard nothing at all. She slipped out of her jacket and unsnapped the safety strap on her weapon, moving quietly to the foot of the stairs. It was close to sunrise; maybe the girl had passed out already. Duncan had emphasized how young she was.

  Cyn started up the stairs, one soft foot at a time. She rounded the first landing and paused. There was a dark huddle at the top of the stairs; it was Mirabelle curled into a ball and clutching herself, whimpering softly. Cyn hurried up the last few steps, going down on one knee and brushing a reassuring hand over the young woman's back, even as she searched the room and found nothing. She flashed on the memory of Mirabelle cringing under the lash of Jabril's cruelty and wondered if Jabril trying to contact her again. If Duncan's shield hadn't been enough after all.

  A half-seen blur of movement had her spinning around, her hand going automatically to her shoulder harness and the Glock 17 waiting there. The shadows in her living room shifted as her hand touched the butt of the weapon. The gun was halfway out of the holster when she realized who it was.
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  "No,” Cyn snarled. She slammed the Glock back into the holster and stood completely. Three hard strides took her into the living room. “No, no, no. You don't get to do this, Raphael. You cannot come in here and..."

  Raphael straightened to his full height, his powerful frame looming over her, black eyes glowing silver in the low light. Those sensuous lips were pulled back in a confident smile, and shadows caressed the perfect planes of his face, showcasing his beauty. Every moment of heartache from the past month came flooding back to punch her in the gut, choking back her words and stopping her cold.

  "What do you want?” She kept her voice low, hoping he wouldn't hear the pain beneath it.

  The vampire lord stared at her, his handsome face unreadable. But then, Cyn had never been able to read anything there unless he wanted her to. She wished she could say the same about herself.

  "I wanted to know you are well."

  He sounded so reasonable. “Fine,” she said. “You see that I am, and now you can leave."

  "Cyn—” he began, but she heard Mirabelle moan softly behind her and hurried back to her side.

  "It's all right, Mirabelle,” she said, crouching next to the girl.

  "I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Mirabelle kept whispering through her tears.

  "It's okay. Come on, honey, get up."

  "She can't,” Raphael observed coolly.

  Cyn felt a rush of rage replace the hurt. She stood, spun around in a single movement and marched over to him, getting right up in his face. “Don't you do this to her,” she hissed. “She came back here with me because I said you were better than this, better than that asshole in Texas. If you're pissed at me, fine, be pissed at me, but don't you dare use her like this."

  He glared back at her, every bit as angry as she was, and Cyn's first thought was to wonder what the hell right he had to be angry at anyone. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, and then he stepped around her and went over to Mirabelle, going down on one knee.